


Falling Through The Night And Rising From The Ashes

by killingmonsterswritingthings



Series: Double Us, Double The Effect [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingmonsterswritingthings/pseuds/killingmonsterswritingthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bronx is 18 when he decides to go on a road trip. It isn’t a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment decision. Actually, it isn’t even his idea in the first place.</p><p>What he doesn't know is that Bandit is even more eager to get on the road than he is. And then there's the boy they pick up in Denver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Through The Night And Rising From The Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic at 3am on a Friday morning, shortly before I decided to stop going to college. For the past month and a half it's kept me moderately sane and happy. It's a bit weird, but I needed to write it. So here, have my baby. 
> 
> (It's mostly unbetad, so feel free to point out mistakes. I'd also like to say that I've never been to any of the places in this fic, except for NYC. I've never driven a car in the US and my native language is German. So there's that, too.)

Bronx is 18 when he decides to go on a road trip. It isn’t a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment decision. Actually, it isn’t even his idea in the first place.

He takes a week of planning the whole thing out, while his Dad keeps telling him that planning totally defeats the purpose of a road trip. But Bronx insists that he needs at least an idea of where to go. His Dad just shakes his head.

At some point though Bronx accepts that he has to live with a few uncertainties, loads his duffel bag into his old SUV and hugs his Dad for a long time. His Dad grins and says he hopes that Bronx likes the life on the road. Bronx isn’t too sure about that. He still gets into the car and drives away.

When he’s stopping at a red light his phone rings and he looks at it for a moment in confusion, not recognizing the number, before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Dude, you have to come pick me up. I’m not letting you go on this tour alone!”

Bronx frowns. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Laughter comes from the other end of the line. “It’s Bandit. Bandit Way.”

 

Half an hour later Bandit throws a backpack and a guitar case on the back seat of Bronx’ car, then climbs into the passenger seat. He just sits there with one eyebrow raised and looks at her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah,” she grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. Bronx raises the second eyebrow, too. “What?”

“I don’t like swearing,” he mumbles and Bandit shakes her head.

“See, this is why I just can’t let you go alone on this road trip. It would be murder.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Bronx sighs and tries to focus on navigating his way through traffic. He’s still confused. Of course, he knows Bandit, but he doesn’t really _know_ her. They’ve met at various parties of their parents and mutual friends but they’ve never hung out. So he doesn’t really understand why she’s in his car now and wants to drive through the States with him.

“How’d you know?” he finally asks.

“About the road trip? Your dad’s pretty excited about it… He called Uncle Mikey and Uncle Mikey told my dad and I was there and totally knew that I had to go with you because _come on_. I’ve never been on a road trip before.” She talks with her hands. A lot.

Bronx almost forgets to look at the road as he stares at her in horror. “Do your parents even know you’re here?”

“Dude!” She grabs the steering wheel and yanks it to the left. “Oh my god, calm down!”

“Sorry” He fixes his eyes on the road, his heart pounding.

“Of course they know,” Bandit says, a bit out of breath from the shock of almost going off the road during the first twenty minutes of their trip. “It took a group effort to convince my dad to let me go, but we’re good at things like that.”

"Any conditions I should know about?'

"Dad tried to tell me not to have sex but that conversation was really awkward. And Mom said alcohol is okay but no drugs." She shrugs.

"We're eighteen," says Bronx and Bandit laughs.

"Exactly."

 

They're halfway down the I-15 and Bandit is resting her bare feet on the dashboard, her head laid back against the seat, eyes closed. But Bronx knows she's not sleeping because she's humming along to the song from the radio.

"So," she asks when the last note carries off, "where are we going?"

"East," says Bronx. "As a general direction. Nevada first, then probably Arizona."

"Nevada?" Bandit grins. "You just want to go to Vegas."

"I've been to Vegas. Not terribly exciting." Just a ton of flashing lights.

"Then you haven't seen the real Vegas yet."

Bronx sighs. "We're eighteen," he repeats and Bandit chuckles.

"You're weird, Bronx Wentz."

"I've heard that before," he mumbles. But he's heard worse things, too, and he knows Bandit doesn't mean it in a bad way.

 

Of course they end up going to Vegas but they're back on the road again after two hours, going further north into the desert.

"I thought we were going east," says Bandit, rolling down the window, holding her feet into the hot air outside.

"We are," Bronx says and taps the steering wheel absent-mindedly. "I just needed to get out of the city first."

Bandit wriggles her toes. "Fine with me, as long as we don't end up in Utah."

For the first time since she got into his car, Bronx laughs. "You know, you're pretty weird yourself, Bandit Way."

"Thanks," she grins. "And it's Lee."

"What?"

"My name. Bandit Lee Way."

"I can top that," Bronx says dryly. "Bronx Mowgli Wentz."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

She doesn't point out that they have to go through the city again anyway and Bronx is glad.

 

When they stop to gas up and use the restroom, Bronx texts his Dad while he waits for Bandit to come back.

_R all Way girls this way?_

He gets the answer in a matter of seconds.

_nice pun not jst the girls tho_

Before he can text back Bandit slides back into the passenger seat and raises an eyebrow at his phone. “Are you texting?” she asks.

“Yeah?” He thinks that it’s kind of an obvious question to ask.

“Dude, no phones on road trips, except for emergencies.”

He looks at her incredulously but slides his phone into his pocket and doesn’t look at it for days. His Dad will understand.

 

***

 

They do get to Arizona before nightfall and actually end up sleeping in the back of the car, because Bandit insists that it's a rite of passage for road trips.

There's still desert all around them and Bandit originally considered sleeping outside, but Bronx convinces her that their parents are going to kill him if anything happens to her and it's definitely safer to sleep in the car. Also less sandy. With the backseats folded and the blankets and sleeping bags spread out there's enough room for both of them - at least after they migrate their luggage into the front seats.

Actually, Bandit is the one doing all the sleeping. Ten minutes after mumbling a 'good night' and turning her back to him, Bronx hears her breathing even out. He, on the other hand, lays awake for hours, staring at the car's ceiling. He _is_ pretty tired from driving all day and having to talk to a girl he barely knows, but the buzz of the road under the tires doesn't seem to wear off.

The problem is that tossing and turning restlessly or getting up isn’t really an option with Bandit less than an arms-length away. He really doesn’t want to wake her. So he forces himself to stay still while his thoughts grow continuously louder, which is never a good thing.

 

 

When the first morning light paints the sky a greyish blue and the horizon turns yellow, Bronx gets out of the car as silently as he can and stretches in the cool air. Maybe he can get Bandit to drive until the next gas station so he can get coffee there. He’s never driven after a sleepless night without his fix of caffeine and he doesn’t really want to find out what’s going to happen if he does.

He takes a few steps away from the car and maybe he can see for the first time what his Dad was talking about. The air that doesn’t have the stuffy hotness yet it will get during the day. The car parked next to the nearly empty stretch of blacktop. The sun slowly rising in the distance. No expectations. No responsibilities.

Bronx basks in the feeling for a moment and right when he starts getting scared of what’s going to come next he hears the car door opening behind him. He exhales slowly and then turns around. Bandit is standing next to the car, rubbing at her eyes, clothes rumpled, and Bronx can’t help but smile a little.

“Do we have anything resembling breakfast?” she asks when he walks towards her.

“A cookie and some crackers, I think? I told you to leave one of the sandwiches for today, but you didn’t listen…”

“I was hungry,” she shrugs and yawns. Bronx raises his hand to run it through his hair but can’t get through the tangled knots of his curls. Bandit laughs and opens the passenger door, digging around in her backpack. “Here,” she says, handing him a hairbrush, “bet you didn’t take one.”

“Thanks.” Bronx quickly brushes his hair and then watches as Bandit does the same. Her hair is a lighter shade of blonde than his but he’s pretty sure it’s bleached, since he remembers seeing her with brown hair half a year ago. She quickly pulls her hair up into a ponytail, fixing it with a hair tie that Bronx is pretty sure was on her wrist two seconds ago.

“Want one?” she asks, waving her hand at him, showing an array of another handful of hair ties.

“No, thank you,” Bronx says. He’s fine with his hair as it is.

“You need a haircut,” she points out and he shakes his head.

“I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes and takes her toothbrush and one of the half-empty bottles of water to attempt brushing her teeth. Bronx decides to postpone that until they stop somewhere with running water and rather starts packing up the car so they can get going again.

When he’s done Bandit is currently putting on her sneakers.

“Do you want to drive until we find a diner or something?” he asks and she nods.

“Sure thing”, she grins and he tosses her the keys. Then he gets into the passenger seat and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll be able to get an hour of sleep while they’re on the road.

 

Bronx doesn’t sleep and they make it all the way to the Grand Canyon without stopping because Bandit remembered that she still had a bag of chips in her backpack. When they finally stop it’s to fill the tank before they drive up to the visitor’s center at the Canyon. By this time Bronx is basically dead on his feet but Bandit promises to buy him proper coffee later.

Once they pull up at the parking lot next to the visitor’s center and Bandit switches the engine off, they sit there in silence for a moment.

“You’ve ever been here?” Bandit asks and Bronx shakes his head.

“You?”

“Why do you think I drove us here?” She raises and eyebrow at him, grins and gets out of the car. Bronx sighs heavily and follows her. He wonders if her parents purposefully made her go on the trip with him because they didn’t want to deal with her anymore.

“Food and coffee first?” he asks her hopefully when he catches up with her.

She nods. “I’m starving.”

They wander over to the diner that is – of course – packed with tourists, so they don’t even bother to try and get a table. Instead, Bandit gets them fries, a cheeseburger (for her), a salad (for Bronx) and three coffees (two of which are for Bronx). She doesn’t openly question his choices but raises an eyebrow at the two coffees. Then they just sit down at one of the picnic tables outside.

“I’m gonna get sunburned,” says Bandit, clearly not caring a bit, while she takes a bite from her burger.

“Didn’t you bring sunscreen?” Bronx asks.

“Well yeah, but it’s in the car.”

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not getting it for you.” No way in hell. Even if she makes her brown eyes extra big. He takes a large gulp of the hot coffee and sighs. He hates drinking warm beverages during the summer, but can’t wait for the surge of the caffeine to kick in. At least then he won’t feel like death anymore.

He only starts eating after he finishes the first cup of coffee, taking sips of the second one in between shoving fries into his mouth. Bandit eyes him with the corners of her mouth curled upwards.

“What?” he says after swallowing a mouthful of salad.

“Nothing”, she grins. “It’s just that this is the first time I’m seeing you actually behave like a teenage boy.”

“I normally have better manners,” he mumbles apologetically around a fry. “But I haven’t had a proper meal in over twenty four hours.”

“We’re spoiled and used to regular feedings, I know.”

“See, you get the point.”

 

After they finish their meal they walk over to the observation deck, Bronx taking his now luke-warm second coffee with him. He eyes the glass skywalk suspiciously and Bandit nudges his side.

“Afraid of heights?” she asks.

“Not really,” he shrugs, “but this doesn’t look entirely safe.”

“If it wasn’t safe they wouldn’t let people walk on it. And if it breaks, well, then we’ll die in a spectacular fall. That’s at least worth talking about.”

Bronx decides there and then that Bandit is definitely crazy. He still follows her out onto the U-shaped observation platform.  She just takes off running towards the curve, even though Bronx is pretty sure that that’s not allowed. He follows her, more slowly, clutching his cup of coffee in his hands, and avoids looking down. Yes, it does make him feel a bit uneasy that there’s nothing between him and the abyss except a piece of thin glass. Well, not that thin, but it doesn’t look exceptionally thick, either.

Suddenly there’s a hand curled around his wrist, dragging him forward.  He almost spills his coffee. “Come on, don’t be scared”, Bandit says excitedly.

“I’m not scared,” he protests but she just gives him a knowing look and keeps tugging him towards the barrier at the front of the skywalk. Hot wind is coming from across the canyon, sweeping Bronx’ hair into his face. He brushes it out of his eyes with an annoyed sound and Bandit laughs.

“Should’ve taken one of my hair ties.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles and she actually does. They look at the canyon in silence until Bandit suddenly sighs.

“I forgot my camera at home,” she says, “and I didn’t think of it until now. I mean, I could take pictures with my phone, but I think the lens is cracked from the last time I dropped it…”

“I have my camera in the car,” Bronx says after a moment of consideration. He doesn’t really want one of his most precious possessions to get dropped into the Grand Canyon.

“Seriously? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” And once again Bandit starts dragging him around by his wrist, this time towards the exit.  She stops halfway though and turns around, looks at Bronx with her brows furrowed in thought. “We should do a tour,” she says after a moment.

“A what?” Bronx asks, confused.

“A tour,” she repeats, “as in, a guided tour to the canyon yadda yadda.”

“Umm…,” he makes and Bandit rolls her eyes.

“Come on, you have to give in to the calling of the adventure. Have some fun!”

“Fine, okay,” he sighs. Hopefully it’s not going to get him killed and maybe they can then drive another hundred miles afterwards.

“Cool,” Bandit grins.

 

The tour is actually interesting and Bronx snaps a ton of pictures until he reluctantly hands the camera over to Bandit. She promises him not to drop it but he keeps an eye on her anyway, just in case. By this time, the caffeine high has kicked in and Bronx is buzzing. He _literally_ feels like he’s buzzing and he was right, it does feel better than the death-on-his-feet-feeling. At least it does until he trips and almost falls down the narrow path.

Bandit catches him by the back of his shirt and yanks him back.

“Jesus Christ, Bronx,” she huffs and he feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest because of the adrenaline. “I thought your shirt was going to rip.”

“Yeah, because that should totally be your first concern.”

“Are you okay?” the guide interrupts them, before Bandit can answer, and Bronx nods, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” he says. Just not used to hiking. In Converse.

Bronx spends the next two hours torn between the caffeine rush in his blood-system and the fear of falling. When they get back to the car, Bandit looks at him questioningly. “Should I drive?” she asks but he shakes his head. He can drive. It’s not that hard.

So they get in the car and pull out of the parking lot.

 

It’s late afternoon but the sun hasn’t quite started setting yet. Bronx tries focusing on the road while Bandit busies herself with looking through the pictures they took earlier. Her feet are propped up on the dashboard again and when Bronx looks over he can see a tattoo on her ankle. He can’t see it properly from this angle though and also can’t stare too long, because running off the road stopped being a funny idea with that incident back in LA.

He’s still working up the courage to ask her about the tattoo when she suddenly turns towards him and taps on the camera’s display. “These are really good,” she says.

“Thanks.”

“I mean, really _really_ good. Almost pro-level,” she continues.

“How many pro-level photographers do you know?” he asks.

“Dude,” she sighs, “just accept the compliment. “

“I did.”

“I know talent when I see it.”

“Okay.”

Bandit chuckles lightly and Bronx just takes a deep breath. Photography is just a thing he does from time to time. A hobby.

“What’s that on your foot?” he asks to change the topic and flinches at his own awkward - and rude - diversion. Luckily Bandit doesn’t seem to care very much. She just grins and pulls the leg of her jeans upwards.

“My tattoo?” It’s probably not the best idea but Bronx still looks over at her ankle. Now that he can get a better view he can see that it’s curly letters forming _‘Yes, Way!’_. “It’s a pun on our family name.”

“I can see that,” says Bronx but a smile is tugging at his lips and Bandit reaches over to poke at his cheek.

“There’s always a way, Bronx Wentz,” she grins and he swats her hand away with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

 

***

 

They decide to go north because Bandit wants to see Boulder and Denver and neither of them really wants to go to New Mexico or Texas. This time they crash in some motel for the night where the receptionist gives them knowing looks. Bronx tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care.

When they finally get to Denver in the early afternoon the next day, Bandit already has a list of things she wants to do. Over the next two days she runs around the city, dragging Bronx behind her and they visit the art museum (which Bronx actually finds extremely interesting and it’s the only one where he asks Bandit to stay longer than she wants to), the Molly Brown House Museum and the Nature & Science museum. Bandit also wants to go to Elitch Gardens but that’s where Bronx draws the line and firmly says no for the first time. And Bandit smiles and gives in.

After breakfast on their third day they drive up to Boulder. Bronx can’t believe it at first but Bandit actually wants to look at the University. They walk around the campus for a bit, Bandit making appreciative noises, and Bronx doesn’t ask what she wants to study. Instead he looks at the architecture of the buildings and waits for Bandit to finish the tour.

She actually wants to go hiking _again_ afterwards and Bronx lets himself get persuaded to walk up a mountain with her. Between the two of them they take a hundred pictures and Bronx has to admit that he’s kind of amazed by the view.

On their way back to the car clouds are starting to gather in the sky and Bronx silently wonders if they’re going to get into a downpour. “That’s a thunderstorm brewing up there,” says Bandit but she doesn’t seem too concerned. It doesn’t start raining until they’re back at the parking lot.

 

They’re on their way to the highway to go further north and in the middle of a discussion about how many SpongeBob SquarePants episodes they’ve seen; the rain pounding on the windshield, the wipers working furiously; when Bandit grabs Bronx arm.

“Pull over!”

He doesn’t question it, just does what she says, and watches as she rolls down the window and sticks her head outside into the rain. Then he sees the boy standing on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” Bandit says as the boy approaches the car. “Do you need a lift?”

Bronx wants to tell her that she can’t just invite strangers into his car, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sort of,” the boy responds and even though Bronx can’t see it he knows that Bandit is grinning. “Where’re you guys going?”

“North,” he hears himself say. “We’re on a road trip.”

“Works for me,” says the boy and before Bronx can object he opens the door and gets on the backseat. He slams the door shut, Bronx sets the indicator, looks into the rear view mirror and gets back on the road.

They drive in silence for a minute until the boy lets out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry that I’m getting your seats wet. I’m drenched,” he says. “And I didn’t introduce myself. I’m West.”

“That’s okay,” says Bronx, his eyes fixed on the road ahead which is getting considerably harder to see with the rain and lightning flashing overhead. The car is old anyway and the seats have all kinds of stains in them back from when it was Bronx’ dad’s car. “My name’s Bronx.” A low rumble of thunder follows his words.

Of course Bandit laughs at that and she turns around to face the boy on the backseat. “I’m Bandit. Bandit Way.”

“I like your names,” says West.

“Thanks,” Bronx and Bandit answer at the same time, but she sounds a lot more excited than he does.

“You look exhausted,” says Bandit, still turned around in her seat, and Bronx can almost hear her frown.  “Like a wet dog that’s been on the street for too long.”

There’s a brief silence until West says “Yeah, that’s how I feel.”

“Do you have any dry clothes you can put on? Because this isn’t healthy.”

“I do, actually.”

“Good, then get changed. I promise I won’t look.” Bandit grins.

“In the backseat of your car?” West asks and Bronx can’t hold back a huff.

“It’s my car,” he says. “And I don’t want you getting sick and sneezing on us, so just do what she says.”

Bronx catches sight of the boy a few times in the rear view mirror while he’s changing. Under his hoodie and shirt West is pale, with tan lines where the sleeves of his t-shirt end. He towels off his still dripping hair with his shirt, and then digs through his bag for a new shirt. Bronx looks away when he starts taking off his jeans.

“You look familiar,” Bandit says, her eyes fixed on the chipped polish on her nails.

“My Dad’s an actor,” says the boy and Bronx automatically looks into the mirror to see if he can make out a resemblance to anyone he knows. West is fully dressed.

“That doesn’t explain why you look familiar.”

“You’re West Collins,” Bronx blurts out. “Misha Collin’s son.”

“Well done,” West says and mock-claps his hands, but his face is sour, like his identity is a secret that shouldn’t be found out. “How’d you know?”

“I… watched Supernatural,” Bronx answers and scratches his nose. “Did a little research on the actors, too.”

“That show ended before we were old enough to watch it,” says Bandit.

“The original ThunderCats ended almost twenty years before we were born and I watched that anyways,” Bronx says, suddenly defensive and Bandit holds her hands up.

“Hey, I watched that, too!” she says.

And when West says that he has never even heard of ThunderCats, both of them launch into a long explanation about the plot, the characters and their favorite episodes. Bandit thinks the Remake was crap but Bronx disagrees and from there they fall into a discussion about animation and art. It’s actually quite refreshing and Bronx is happy to have a topic he knows a lot about.

 

They’re already in Wyoming when Bandit suddenly yells. “Let’s go east! I want to go to Kansas!”

“You’re just saying that because of Supernatural,” Bronx says and West laughs on the backseat.

“No, I want to stand in a wheat field,” Bandit shoots back and Bronx can’t tell if she’s serious or not.

He takes the next opportunity to go east, anyway, because they have no reason not to. Instead of doubling back and going through Colorado again, they’re now driving towards Nebraska. And Bronx can feel the nervous hum of anxiety inside him. He still continues going. Because road trips are about the way and the adventure, not the destination.

 

Shortly before dusk Bandit – who is driving at that point – stops on a sandy field next to a forest. At least Bronx thinks it’s a forest. “We’re camping here tonight,” she says and Bronx knows better than to argue with her.

She sends them to get wood for a fire and Bronx protests that that’s against fire hazard regulations and it’s summer, but West just drags him towards the trees and they start collecting loose branches from the ground.

Bandit actually gets a fire going before the sun sets, which is impressive because Bronx definitely can’t lit a campfire, and spreads two of the blankets from the car in front of it. Then she gets the apples and the marshmallows they bought at their last stop and hands them to the boys. “Dinner,” she grins and West hurriedly prepares sticks so they can roast the marshmallows.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Bronx says when West tries to give him one of the sticks.

“Ahh, fuck, sorry. Forgot about that,” says Bandit, returning from the car, carrying her until now seemingly forgotten guitar case.

“It’s okay, I can eat the apples,” Bronx shrugs. “And last time I checked we still had cookies, too.” He gets up.

“My family used to be vegan,” West says, randomly. “I’m not, though.”

Bronx just nods and walks over to the car to search for something to drink and the cookies. And his sketch block.

When he comes back to the fire Bandit has an old acoustic guitar in her lap and is tuning it by ear. He settles next to her and takes a bite from one of the cookies. Then he starts drawing.

She plays a song that he doesn’t recognize while he watches her for a moment before capturing the way she holds the guitar. She starts strumming chords he knows when he’s done with the outline of her face and moves on to drawing West behind her. He starts humming along to the tune when he is shading the short curls at the boy’s neck. He doesn’t notice when the music stops.

“I told you I knew talent when I see it!” Bandit suddenly screams, definitely too close to his ear, and Bronx winces. “Jesus, that’s almost better than what my Dad does.” She goes to snatch the paper from Bronx’s hands but he holds on to it.

“I’m better with proper lighting,” he mumbles. “When I can actually see what I’m drawing.”

“I bet you are,” says West, who is leaning towards Bronx to look at the paper. Bronx has the urge to cover his drawing with his hands but wills himself not to do it. “But this is already extremely good.”

“Thanks,” Bronx says, barely audible. He’s used to people complimenting his drawing skills, but something about Bandit’s open admiration and West’s approving look makes it more real under the flickering watch of the fire.

This time Bandit pulls West into the vote and wins. They sleep outside.

 

***

 

When they get to Kansas Bandit puts her word to life and stands in the midst of a humongous field of wheat. She makes Bronx take pictures and promptly considers taking up a career as a model.

They sleep in the car and outside another three times. Except that Bronx can’t sleep during two of those nights and starts seriously dreading this road trip business. He makes Bandit drive in the mornings until they get somewhere with coffee. He tries taking naps on the backseat but West and Bandit always forget about being quiet after a while and he gets woken up by heated arguments over radio channels or – for some reason – nail polish.

For a while they just drive aimlessly around Kansas, stopping at random attractions, until Bronx feels so restless that he just has to go _somewhere_. He needs something he can be sure of for once.

“We could go to Texas,” says Bandit when he tells them that they need to move on.

“No!” West shouts so loudly from the backseat that even Bronx turns around to him – and he’s driving. “Uhh… I mean. No, please, I’ve been to Texas already and it’s really not much to look at.”

Bronx raises an eyebrow but decides not to pry into West’s personal matters and turns to face the road again.

“Fine,” Bandit shrugs. “I just wanted to see the sea again, but we don’t have to.”

“We can just go straight to the East Coast,” West proposes but Bandit shakes her head.

“No, that’d be too easy.”

“I want to go to Chicago,” says Bronx before he can swallow the words down and make them disappear once again.

“Then Chicago it is,” Bandit grins. “You should just tell us what you want more often, Bronx Wentz.”

 

“Lake Michigan is water, too,” says Bronx, when they’re just past Kansas City.

“Hmm?” makes West but Bandit understands.

“Lake Michigan is not the sea,” she argues.

“But close enough.”

Bandit rolls her eyes, smiles and reaches for the radio. Bronx doesn’t stop her. When they recognize the song that is playing on the station, they simultaneously groan.

“What?” West pipes up again but Bronx ignores him.

“They’re still playing that?” Bandit asks and shoots Bronx a pained look. “That song came out in 2007, oh my god.”

“It isn’t even one of their best ones,” Bronx sighs.

By that time West has recognized the song and is singing along. Bandit, obviously recovering from the surprise, looks at Bronx with an evil grin and starts singing, too. And for some stupid reason Bronx feels forced to sing along, too. It’s just a reflex, it’s not his fault that he knows the lyrics so well.

When the song ends he even taps the rhythm on the steering wheel and can’t help but smile a bit. Then he notices that both Bandit and West are staring at him, mouths gaping wide open.

He frowns. “What?”

“Dude, you just sang along to Thnks fr th Mmrs,” Bandit says but Bronx can see West shaking his head in the rear view mirror.

“No, that’s not the point. The point is that you just _sang_ and I want to know where you’ve been hiding that _voice_!”

“I haven’t been hiding anything.”

“What West wants to tell you with that is that your voice is a fucking gift and you should totally use it,” Bandit explains with a broad grin.

“No,” Bronx says. He knows where this conversation is going and he doesn’t want it.

“But it’d be perfect!” West exclaims. “You could be _famous_.”

“I don’t want to be famous!” Bronx snaps, gripping the steering wheel tighter, knuckles standing out white against the black fake leather. “Do you know how hard it was to not get dragged into my Dad’s fame? No. I just want to do something normal.”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Bandit argues at the same time as West says “Wait, what?”

“Fall Out Boy,” Bronx says through gritted teeth. “The bassist is my Dad.”

“Oh,” makes West and is silent for a minute. Then he looks at Bandit. “Oh, and you’re –“

“Gerard Way’s daughter, yes.”

If Bronx wasn’t so angry it would be funny to see realization finally dawn on West.

“It’s literally what everybody expects celebrity children to do. To step into their parents’ footsteps just to be constantly compared to them by the media. I don’t need fame.” His thoughts are more elaborate than that, but he just shuts his mouth and waits.

“But our parents also helped people,” Bandit says.

“You don’t have to be famous to do that.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. He really doesn’t. He likes music, he likes making music. But he also likes art and architecture and dogs.

“But-“

“Just shut up, please…”

 

When they get to a motel that night, Bronx gets his own room. But being alone doesn’t help with not being able to sleep. It only makes it worse.

He flicks the light back on around 2am and gets his sketch block, but instead of drawing he starts writing and before he knows it he has five pages of feelings written down. He still can’t sleep but he feels a little bit better.

 

They planned to get to Chicago the next day, but their plan gets ruined by a flat tire. Bronx has never changed a tire in his life, West doesn’t even have a license yet, and the situation is kind of overwhelming. Luckily Bandit seems to know what they’re supposed to do and starts ordering them around. It still takes a lot of time and energy until they can continue driving and their decision to call it a day is unanimous.

For some bizarre reason the next motel they find only has a room with two beds left but they take it anyways. West just shrugs and says that two of them can sleep on one bed or one will have to make do with a sleeping bag on the floor.

Bronx heads into the shower first and when he comes back out West walks past him into the bathroom with slightly furrowed brows. “I don’t have any clean clothes anymore.”

“We can do laundry in Chicago,” Bronx says, and after a moment of hesitation adds “We can go to my grandparents’ place.”

“Good idea,” says Bandit, who is sitting on one of the beds, plucking at the strings of her guitar.

Bronx sits down on the other bed, rubbing at his wet hair with his towel.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bandit says after a minute, almost hesitantly.

“About?” Bronx asks, even though he’s pretty sure what this is going to be about.

“We three, we work together, don’t we?” she says. “And West told me he plays the drums. We _could_ form a band. Just… to try.”

Bronx shakes his head. “We don’t even know him.”

“You didn’t really know me until a few weeks ago. There’s no need to know each other’s deepest secrets at the beginning, Bronx. That’ll come with time.”

“No,” Bronx says and Bandit opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. “I can’t do this, okay? I don’t want to be like my Dad.”

Bandit looks like she really isn’t satisfied with that but she doesn’t say anything more and busies herself with strumming on the guitar.

 

West shuffles out of the bathroom in just his boxers fifteen minutes later, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Bronx watches the way his curls move and definitely doesn’t think that he needs to remember this so he can draw it later.

“Okay, so… sleeping arrangements,” West says and it isn’t really a question but Bronx is pretty sure it’s supposed to be one.

“You two take the other bed, of course,” Bandit yawns from her position from the bed closer to the door and Bronx glares at her. She doesn’t even notice it. He then looks at West who is _grinning_ a bit.

Bronx doesn’t really _care_ because he’s slept in close proximity to both of them now but sharing a bed with someone is something else – at least in his book.

But when they clamber into the other bed together it’s only a bit awkward until they get themselves arranged and lie back to back. Bandit finally puts her guitar away and puts out the light.

“Good night, guys,” she says and Bronx can hear the amusement in her voice.

“Night,” they say simultaneously and Bandit laughs.

And for some reason Bronx can fall asleep that night, with the comforting heat of another body behind him.

 

***

 

Bandit says that it’s technically against road trip rules to visit anyone, especially family members, but on the other hand they really need to wash their clothes and West argues that he could do with some home cooked meals.

So Bronx texts his Grandma to give her a warning and she actually calls him and tells him she’s going to be mad at him if they don’t stay for at least three days. When they pull up in front of the house, she’s already waiting and her embrace almost crushes Bronx when he gets out of the car. He hugs her back maybe a little too tight, too. The last time he saw her was Christmas and he’s missed her.

West and Bandit introduce themselves and behave more polite than Bronx is used from them. Bandit even tries not cursing but her good resolution is lost at the dinner table.

“Holy shit,” she mutters into her food and they all laugh.

 

They stay in Chicago for a whole week, once they go swimming and Bronx learns that while Bandit has a bathing suit with her, West does not.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d need them,” he says, stripping down to his boxers. “I didn’t really plan to go to Chicago, you know?”

“Yeah?” Bandit asks, already halfway in the lake, “Where were you going?”

“Just… anywhere,” West shrugs.

“You’re weird,” says Bandit and Bronx laughs because he knows she means it in the best way possible.

He knows that West is hiding something from them and by now he’s almost sure that he ran away from home. Obviously, West doesn’t want to talk about it but Bronx thinks that they will have to do that at some point. Because despite Bandit’s best efforts they won’t drive around the country forever. They’ll have to go back to LA at some point and Bronx doesn’t think that they can take West with them, but he won’t let him leave and drive away either, so that’s a problem that needs to be discussed. Eventually.

 

Bronx’ grandpa makes them waffles and pancakes for breakfast and his grandma does their laundry and they help out around the house. It’s so familiar and so nice that Bronx almost forgets that they will have to get back on the road again. It feels like a family vacation at his grandparents’ house, except he’s not with his Dad but with two… friends. Because that’s what they are, aren’t they?

His gran shows all his embarrassing baby pictures to West and Bandit and Bronx doesn’t even care because it just feels so _nice_. She also shows them old pictures of his Dad and they all laugh until they’re breathless because those are even worse than Bronx as a chubby two-year-old.

But Bandit grows adventurous again and West seems restless, as if being in one place for too long hurts him. And Bronx understands. So he gives in and they pack the car up on a late Monday morning, Bronx hugs his grandma one last time – West and Bandit get hugs too and Bronx is pretty sure his gran practically considers them family by now – and then they’re off again.

 

They decide not to go south but make for the East Coast as fast as they can. Bronx wants to leave his homesickness behind and the other two just need to feel the road moving under them again.

“We could be in Jersey in two days,” Bandit says with a sigh.

Bronx eyes her suspiciously. “Is this some kind of family-heritage love for a state you don’t even live in?”

“Dude, don’t hate on Jersey. Maybe I just want to go see Uncle Frankie!”

And Bronx can’t really argue with that since they just spent a week with his grandparents.

“Is he as awesome as Bronx’ grandma?” West wants to know and Bandit laughs.

“A hundred times cooler.”

“How does he even still live in Jersey when all of you migrated to California?” Bronx asks.

“We didn’t _migrate_ ,” Bandit answers, rolling her eyes. “It was just easier for recording and stuff. And better weather. Frank and Jamia have a flat in LA too, as far as I know. But seriously, be honest, could you ever let go of California?”

Bronx shrinks a bit in his seat, which is kind of stupid because he’s driving. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Bandit huffs and that closes the conversation.

 

Frank Iero _is_ cool, Bronx knows that. But that doesn’t keep him from feeling uneasy for the whole three days they spend at his house. Now he’s the one feeling trapped, while West and Bandit seem to be enjoying themselves.

By now he can predict what’s going to happen so he drives up to a pharmacy on their first night and gets some sleeping pills. He doesn’t tell the others. It still takes him a long time to fall asleep and he wakes up feeling nauseous in the mornings, but at least he sleeps.

They let themselves get talked into taking the Iero kids with them to New York and while Bronx doesn’t necessarily have anything against younger teenagers, it’s still _exhausting_. It’s not their fault, really, but in the end he’s the oldest one and has all the responsibility. So he’s really relieved when Cherry, Lily and Miles get on a train back home and he can stay in New York for another few days with Bandit and West.

He has seen New York before and he doesn’t particularly like it but it’s West’s first time, so Bandit has made it her mission to show him everything from that special spot in Central Park to her favorite restaurant in China Town. Bronx just tags along out of politeness and vaguely smiles whenever she mentions that they should also visit the Bronx because of his name.

 

When they finally leave the city and go south Bronx feels like he hasn’t really been breathing in days and he has constant headaches. He lets Bandit drive until they’re in Richmond.

“We should go to Disney World,” Bandit says as they’re sitting in a diner, eating fries and drinking coffee.

“Yes!” West exclaims.

“Fine,” Bronx says with a shrug. He’s too tired to argue.

“Aww, come on, be a little more enthusiastic,” Bandit nudges his side and Bronx sighs.

“Yayyy, Disney World,” he says.

“That’s better,” she grins.

And even though he doesn’t feel like it Bronx smiles a bit into his coffee.

 

***

 

They’re somewhere in South Carolina and Bandit has decided she wants to go to the beach.  Bronx has slept through three nights in a row and he thinks it’s a good idea.

So they park the car at a deserted stripe of beach and Bandit is in the water faster than Bronx and West can take off their clothes.

Later they’re lying on their towels, letting themselves get dried by the sun and Bronx thinks that this are the moments it’s worth living for.

“I want to build a sandcastle,” West suddenly says, crawls away from his towel and starts digging a hole with his hands. It’s only a matter of seconds until Bandit joins him.

“What are you two doing?” Bronx asks with raised eyebrows, sitting up.

“Building a sandcastle, weren’t you listening?” West says, shaking his head. Bronx ignores the way his still wet hair clings to the nape of his neck in favor of scolding the two about their sandcastle building-methods.

“No, I mean, what are you _doing_? You can’t build a sandcastle without a bucket, young ones!”

Bandit and West stare at him in complete and utter confusion. “Where the fuck are we supposed to get a bucket from?” Bandit asks but Bronx is already on the move, walking up the slope towards the car. A minute later he gets back, a triumphant smile on his face, a bucket in his hand.

“Dude, are you high?” Bandit asks him with genuine concern in her voice. “Why do you have a fucking bucket in your car and why have I never noticed it?”

“You never know when you’re gonna need a bucket,” Bronx says in a serious voice but then grins. “No, seriously, I think my Dad put it there at some point a few years back and I just never took it out because we used to build sandcastles a lot.”

“This is _awesome_!” West laughs, takes the bucket from Bronx and continues building.

Between the three of them they build a castle with six towers surrounded by a two feet high wall with another four towers.

“We should take a picture of this,” West says and Bandit grins at Bronx and Bronx remembers that he hasn’t taken out his camera since they were in Chicago and hurries back to the car once more.

He takes a few shots of their creation, then Bandit snatches the camera from him and motions at him and West.

“We don’t have a picture of you two together yet. Or a group photo, for that matter.”

And before he can really register what’s going on, West’s arm is around Bronx’ shoulder and Bronx is wondering if his two companions have never heard of personal space. Bandit just grins at him like she knows exactly what’s going through his head, then she starts taking photos.

The three of them end up lying in the sand together, the camera positioned on their towels, set to autotimer. Bronx is in the middle, West to his left, Bandit to his right.

“You’re our frontman,” West says and it’s so ridiculous that Bronx laughs right in the moment the camera goes off.

 

It’s already dark but they’re still on the beach, lying on their backs and pointing out star constellations to each other.

“I just remembered something I wanted to ask you,” West says and Bronx turns his head to see the boy looking at him.

“What?” Bronx asks.

“What’s the name of your car?”

“What?” he repeats, incredulous.

“Your car. It has to have a name.”

“It does, but I didn’t think you were going to ask that,” Bronx says and Bandit starts laughing. “Shut up,” he mumbles, more to himself than to her.

“So? What is it?”

“Desire,” Bronx says with a sigh and that finally shuts Bandit up.

“Okay…,” makes West but his confusion is interrupted by Bandit.

“Dude, that’s brilliant!” she says, sitting up and grinning down at Bronx. “You literally have a car named Desire.”

Bronx laughs. “Yeah, well, it’s no streetcar but my Dad and I named it together and our humor is ridiculous.”

“I don’t get it,” West says and now Bronx sits up, too.

“You’ve never read A Streetcar Named Desire?” he asks. It’s nothing new to him because he only knows a few people who have, but it’s still something he can’t let pass if West wants to spend more time in his car. He shares a look with Bandit. “We’re getting you a copy first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

They do get him the book the next day and West spends most of their trip to Orlando stretched out on the backseat, reading.

Bandit suggests that they walk into a real hotel and pull the rich kid card but Bronx isn’t really on board with that and neither is West, so they stay in another motel.

The next day is entirely dedicated to Disney World. Bandit has talked Bronx into primary camera rights and goes around taking pictures of everything she deems interesting. She also makes the boys pose with Mulan.

And Bronx is swept away. The day just takes him and runs away with him and it feels good. It’s like he’s four again and everything’s new and exciting.

 

The feeling actually lasts until they’re driving north through Georgia. West is still reading and Bandit is sitting in her favorite position again, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard.

“I need a haircut,” Bandit says, tugging at her braid.

Bronx looks over for a moment. “I don’t think you do,” he says.

“Well, I don’t really _need_ one but I want one,” she clarifies. “The one who needs one is you.”

“I don’t need a haircut,” he says. “My hair is a bit longer than it has to be and that’s exactly how I like it.”

“I think it’s perfect,” West says, while turning a page.

When they’re in the next bigger town they let Bandit out at the hairdresser and go to gas up the car and buy some food because Bandit said she doesn’t need the two of them sitting around doing nothing. They spend almost an hour buying fruits because West can’t decide if they should take strawberries or raspberries but when they get back to pick up Bandit, she’s not done yet, so they sit in the car and wait.

After a while West sighs and puts his book aside.

“I ran away,” he says.

Bronx just nods. “Want to tell me why?”

West looks like he’s contemplating it but then he shakes his head. Bronx shrugs.

“That’s okay,” he says.

“I’m not ready to go back yet,” West says, rubbing his arm.

“You don’t have to,” Bronx says. It’s not true and they both know it. West will have to go back home eventually and it would probably be better if he went right now than in two weeks. But Bronx doesn’t tell him that.

The back door opens and Bandit launches herself onto the backseat.

“That was fun,” she says while both boys look at her in shock.

“What the fuck?”

“Jesus, I only cut my hair, West, not murdered a dog,” Bandit says, rolling her eyes.

“You could have warned us that you wanted to cut it all off, though,” Bronx suggests.

“I didn’t know until I walked in there.”

Bronx shakes his head and starts the engine. “It’s your hair,” he says.

“Exactly,” she nods. “I needed a change and it’s gonna grow back in time if I need it to. So shut up and drive.” And Bronx does.

 

“I just remembered something,” Bronx says. They’re somewhere in the middle of Tennessee and West is on the last pages of his book.

“What is it?” Bandit asks and looks up from something she’s writing.

“West, your middle name. It’s Anaximander, right?”

Bandit immediately knows where Bronx is going with this and pokes West’s side. “That’s officially weirder than both of us,” she grins.

“That’s not fair,” West says. “Yours is perfectly normal and Bronx is named after a fictional character. I think he’s the odd one out here.”

“Yeah but at least our names work. West Anaximander Collins is quite a mouthful,” Bandit teases.

“I like it,” Bronx admits. “But you still outweird us.”

“I do not!”

 

***

 

The next time they sleep in the car Bronx takes a sleeping pill. When he’s still awake at 3am he climbs out of the door carefully and hopes that he doesn’t wake the other two up. Outside he walks away from the car and furiously kicks at the dirt on the ground. He’s taken a damn sleeping pill and it _isn’t working._

He sits down on the ground and buries his head in his hands, pulls on his hair. “I hate this so much,” he growls through gritted teeth. Why can’t he sleep? Why can’t he just _sleep_ and keep the nice feelings?

“What are you doing out here?”

He quickly wipes away his tears and looks up to find Bandit standing next to him, a frown on her face.

“I can’t sleep,” he says.

“I’ve noticed.” She sits down next to him.

Bronx doesn’t know if he loves or hates her for not being able to hide anything from her.

“Has this been happening before? Before the road trip, I mean,” she asks.

“Sometimes,” he says. “But this is different. Now it’s every almost other night.”

“Why didn’t you say something? We could’ve helped you.”

“How would you have done that? I can’t _sleep_ , Bandit, you can’t help me with that. Not even sleeping pills are working anymore!”

She tries to put an arm around him but he stands up and takes a step back.

“We could’ve tried to work out what the issue is,” she says and Bronx can hear the anger she’s holding back in her voice. “Obviously it has something to do with the journey so we could have worked it out together.”

“I didn’t see any reason to spoil your fun.”

“Bronx, it’s your life and your car and this was your idea to begin with. Maybe you need to go home. Maybe you should talk to your Dad.” Bandit sounds pleading now.

“It’s my life, exactly. So stop acting like you know anything.” He knows he shouldn’t be angry at her, that she’s just trying to help. But he also thinks that she has no right to interfere.

“What’s going on?” Suddenly a concerned looking West is standing next to them.

“Bronx has sleeping issues and he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Bandit snaps.

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want a fucking therapy session from you!”

“Goddammit, I just want to help you!” she yells. “Don’t just shut me out like that!”

“Leave me alone! I don’t want to talk about this! I don’t want to talk to you, or my Dad or anyone. I don’t want to be like him!” Bronx immediately knows that he’s said too much after the words have left his mouth. He sees realization flicker across Bandit’s face and her features soften for a moment before she scrunches her brows in anger again.

“Please, can you two just calm down? I don’t think this is going to solve anything,” West says.

“No, I’m not going to calm down,” Bandit yells. “This,” she makes a gesture that includes all three of them and the car, “isn’t going to work like this. Why? Because we're just three fucking rich kids playing pretend! We're not free and do you know why? You're afraid and you're not permitting yourself to be free, Bronx. You’re so caught up in not wanting to be like your Dad that you’re ruining your own life! And you,” she points at West, still shouting, “you're just running! You’re a fucking teenager who’s run away from home because he’s rebelling or whatever. There's nothing free about that, either, it’s just stupid. So please, both of you, stop acting like everything’s a-fucking-ok!”

“Are you done now?” West asks and the hurt tone of his voice breaks Bronx’ heart. He takes a step towards the boy but West just turns around and stomps off.

“You shouldn’t have said that! You have no _idea_ what he’s going through, how dare you judge him?” Bronx says. He’s trembling and he isn’t sure if it’s out of anger or hurt or exhaustion. Bandit just looks at him for a moment, then she slowly sits down on the ground and puts her head on her knees. Bronx turns and hesitates for a moment, then he starts walking.

“Where are you going?” Bandit asks. All rage has vanished from her voice but Bronx is too mad at her to feel sorry for her.

“I’m taking a walk. Don’t follow me. Stay by the car or I swear I’m calling your parents and getting you on a plane to LA. And leave West alone, he needs some time on his own, too.”

“It’s dark, you shouldn’t be wandering around,” Bandit says, almost a whisper.

“I’m gonna follow the road. And I have my phone.” Plus, it’s not going to be dark for very long anymore.

Before Bandit can raise any more objections Bronx takes off. He really needs to be alone right now. He needs to calm down. He needs to be able to think.

 

When he comes back to the car two hours later he isn’t any wiser but at least a lot calmer. He can see Bandit sleeping next to the car on the ground and sighs. A lot of what they said earlier was true but they shouldn’t have let it explode like that.

He looks around for a moment and frowns when he notices that West isn’t back yet. When he opens the back door of the car he notices that West’s backpack is gone. A Streetcar Named Desire is lying on the seat.

“Bandit,” Bronx says. “Bandit, wake up!” He grabs the book, slams the door shut again and crouches down to put a hand on Bandit’s shoulder and shake her. She blinks up at him.

“Wha-? I was dreamin’, why’d you wake me?”

“Get in the car!”

“No, wanna sleep…” On any other day Bronx would find this amusing. But not now. They need to get driving.

“Bandit, _get in the car_!”

“Whyyy?” she moans and covers her eyes with her hand.

“He’s gone. West is gone!”

“What?”

“Just get in the car, for Christ’s sake!”

Bandit finally seems to be awake enough to recognize the urgency in his voice. She scrambles up from where she’s slumped against the car’s side and fumbles to open the passenger door. Bronx opens it for her, then he runs around the car and gets in himself.

“What do you mean ‘he’s gone’?” Bandit asks when Bronx lets the engine howl and the car shoots forward.

“He left, that’s what I mean,” Bronx growls. “He ran away from us, too, now.”

“Because of me,” Bandit mumbles.

“Because of our fight,” Bronx clarifies. He doesn’t want to talk about it right now. They need to catch up with West before he finds another car that will pick him up and get him to wherever place he thinks is furthest away from both Bronx and Bandit _and_ his family.

Bronx knows he’s going well over the speed limit but he doesn’t care. He curses himself for not having West’s phone number but then he reminds himself that West probably has his phone turned off anyway.

They’re completely silent for a while, then Bandit suddenly leans forward in her seat.

“There he is!” she yells and Bronx just nods. He saw the figure walking in the distance at the same time as she did.

He slows down when they reach West but the boy just keeps walking.

“West, please, listen to me. You can’t just-“ Bandit says through the open passenger window but West turns around and cuts her off angrily.

“Leave me alone! You’ve made it clear that you don’t want me with you, so let me go.”

Bronx shoots Bandit an angry look. “Stay here”, he says, stops the car and just gets out, with the engine still running. This _is_ her fault, but he is going to put it right again for her. Because he was the one that wronged her first. And because he can’t see West leave.

“Wait,” he says, walking only a few steps behind West. “Please. I know Bandit hurt you. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sure she didn’t mean what she said. She was angry.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” West asks without turning around or stopping. “It’s okay. I just don’t fit with you guys. I’m good with being alone.”

“No, come on. Stop. Look at me.” Bronx grabs Wests wrist, forces him to stop walking.

“Let me go!” West hisses and yanks his hand from Bronx’ grip. But he doesn’t take another step.

“I’m really sorry,” Bronx repeats. “I- We don’t want you to leave. I know you don’t want to talk about why you ran away but I can tell it’s not because you’re a rebellious teenager. And Bandit knows that, too. Please, just come back to the car. We need you on this road trip.”

He can see West’s shoulder deflate. Then the boy slowly turns around. “It’s my sister,” he says quietly. “She’s sick. And I couldn’t deal with it. So I ran way.”

“That’s okay,” Bronx says, holding out his hand. “We’re all running from something. I’m apparently running from myself. God knows what is haunting Bandit. But she’s running, too. And she’s wrong. We are free.”

West takes his hand.

 

Being back in the car is awkward but familiar at the same time. They’re silent for a long while, until Bronx reaches for the book he put on the dashboard and gives it to West.

“You forgot this,” he says.

“I left it on purpose.”

“I know, but you’re here now so you can have it back.” Bronx tries to smile. He doesn’t really know what to say or do. Getting West back was his only thought earlier and now he’s not sure how to act. Because despite knowing that the three of them are a good team they fucked up royally and Bronx is pretty sure that it’s mostly his fault.

“Well,” West says, after a moment, taking the book back from Bronx, “this is some heavy stuff, but I’m certain that none of us is ever going to end up like Blanche.”

“It’s good though, isn’t it?” Bandit asks at the same time as Bronx says “Let’s hope not.” Poor Blanche.

“It’s kind of depressing,” West says to Bandit and shoots Bronx a look – which he catches in the rearview mirror – that says that he’s heard his comment but chose to ignore it.

“Yeah, it’s beautifully depressing,” Bandit grins and Bronx huffs.

“You know I have Brendon Urie’s phone number, right?”

“What? I was just using his lyrics to prove my point. Nothing bad about that.”

“It’s embarrassing, Bandit.”

“Yeah, for you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Bronx bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. He knows that she doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t want to start another fight, so he lets it go.

“Guys, we’ll have to talk about this, right?” West says silently from the backseat.

“We will,” Bronx answers. “But right now we need to drive.”

“We could go to New Orleans,” Bandit suggests hesitantly.

“No,” both of the boys say at the same time. “Now that,” Bronx adds, “would be really depressing.” He doesn’t even really know what he means with that himself.

 

The next day, Bandit is driving and Bronx is staring out of the window, trying to make sense of his thoughts, when she suddenly takes a right.

“Where are we going?” West asks from the backseat, trying to cover up the fact that he’s nervously toying with his phone.

“A water park,” Bandit says, grinning broadly, and Bronx groans.

“Bandit, that’s ridiculous,” he says but she just pets his arm and doesn’t even look at him.

“It’ll be fun, grumpy,” she promises. “Also I had to promise Uncle Mikey to carry on the family tradition. Or rather make one. Wentzes, Ways and Water Parks.”

“Haha”, says Bronx, dripping sarcasm. “And where does West come into the picture?”

“Oh, I’m ok with being your bodyguard or whatever,” West chimes in.

“Have you two been planning this?” Bronx asks and he can’t help the bubbly happiness that is building up in his chest.

“Maybe,” Bandit grins.

So that’s settled.

 

Later they’re sitting around, trying to soak up some sun before they get back in the car to drive another hour or two.  West is explaining how he almost drowned – which is really untrue, even though he gave them a bit of a scare – while Bronx tries to untangle his hair.

“Can I braid it?” Bandit asks and Bronx looks at her, a bit startled.

“What?”

“Your hair looks long enough to be able to braid it. And I can’t braid my own anymore,” she says with a shrug.

“Should’ve kept it long then,” he says.

“I’ve had my hair in a braid when it was longer,” West says. “It’s really cool.”

Bandit looks at him pleadingly and Bronx frowns. “Stop with the puppy eyes.”

“Just a strand or two.”

“Fine,” he huffs and Bandit makes a happy noise that one would expect from a three year old who is presented with a new toy. “How’d I end up with you two insufferable idiots?” Bronx sighs while both of the others start working on his still damp hair.

“Oh, we’re horrible, but you love us,” West grins.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

And despite the joking tone he knows that they’re all aware of the fact that it’s the truth.

 

They head to a motel when it’s already dark and the good feeling that the day gave Bronx is fading.

They’re dragging their stuff into their room when Bronx phone buzzes, indicating that he has a new text. He grabs his sketch block from his bag and heads outside again, sitting down on a bench.

_heard ur keepin up w old smmer habits_

Bronx actually laughs at that.

 _All lies. Who told you?_ He sends back, even though he feels a pang of guilt. This isn’t what they should be talking about.

_ways gossip_

_She’s breaking her own rules._ She’s a little hypocrite. But Bronx can live with that. It’s not like he’s going to call her out on it.

 _they tend to do_ _that_

And Bronx is tempted to reply with a few sentences about how Ways can probably stick to their rules better than Wentzes, but he really doesn’t want to get into this conversation with his Dad. And suddenly he doesn’t know what to say, at all. He pockets his phone and directs his attention to drawing. It’s no use to ponder on things he’s never going to say.

He doesn’t really know what he’s drawing and it’s just squiggly lines at first, then it turns into waves, the sea during a storm, crashing onto a rocky shoreline. Bronx hums a little to himself while the pencil is scratching over the paper.

“The beach didn’t look like that when we were there,” West says, dropping down next to him onto the free space on the bench and Bronx can’t help but flinch a little. The boy can be sneaky like a ninja if he wants to, which is most of the time.

“That’s kind of the point,” he answers, trying to sound calmer than he is. “And please don’t try to analyze it now, it’s just a drawing.”

There’s a few seconds of silence until West sighs. “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“I could try, but it’s gonna get complicated pretty fast either way,” Bronx shrugs.

“Look, we should really talk about this, before it blows up into our faces again.”

Bronx sighs and puts his drawing utensils down on his other side. He knows they have to talk about it but that doesn’t mean that he has to like it. “Bandit sent you to talk to me first, didn’t she? I’m not mad at her anymore, I’m really not. She was just trying to get us out of the river before we got dragged into the current.”

“Yeah but she accidentally knocked you into the water headfirst in the process,” West says and Bronx grins at him.

“Exactly.”

Bronx phone buzzes in his pocket and when he pulls it out it’s a text from Bandit.

_stop gossiping about me in lyric worthy words and get talking_

“Don’t eavesdrop if you don’t want to hear what I have to say!” he shouts to the door behind them. Seriously, she’s a worse stalker than his Dad.

“You said you were gonna shower!” West says accusingly in the same direction and Bronx chuckles.

“Let’s go take a walk.”

There’s a small park a block away from the motel and Bronx is pretty sure he saw a swing set when they drove past. Nobody ever fully grows out of swings and he certainly didn’t. So it’s no big surprise when they end up there ten minute later, lazily dragging their feet through the dusty dirt.

“Actually, I volunteered for talking to you,” West says after a while and Bronx looks at him with a raised eyebrow. The other boy just shrugs. “Bandit seemed a bit too involved, I mean, you sort of knew each other before you went onto this trip. I have no real idea who you are but I want to get to know you, so I have the outside perspective. Maybe that’s better.”

Bronx wants to say that he doesn’t really know Bandit either, that they only met a couple of times through their parents because musicians never stop being involuntary attention whores and everybody knows each other. But that they weren’t close because there was really no connecting factor aside from the loose friendship between their families. What he says instead is “Maybe it is.” And then he shuts up again.

“Come on, you’re better with words than that,” West says and nudges Bronx’ foot with his sneaker.

“I just don’t know where to start,” Bronx sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead.

“You have trouble sleeping,” West prompts and Bronx can’t stop the bitter laugh that escapes him.

“That’s the understatement of the year.” There’s another beat of silence but Bronx’ chest is constricting in a familiar way that indicates that he has something to say, he just has to find a way to get it out. So he takes a deep breath and start talking. “My brain just won’t shut up anymore,” he says and suddenly it’s like something unlocks in him. “Like, I mean, my thoughts were always loud and I was used to that because it’s just always been this way and I kept it in check with drawing and occasionally writing some stuff down. But it’s just getting worse and I don’t know why. And it just gets… darker. And it’s really scary. It’s so scary, because…” He bites his lip and fixes his eyes on the ground. He can’t say it. It’s embarrassing and it’s bad and he shouldn’t even be worrying about it.

“Because you don’t want to be like your Dad?” West asks softly but Bronx just shakes his head.

“I can’t talk to you about this,” he says and it’s only half the truth. “I just… that’s too much.”

There’s a barely audible sigh from West and Bronx is glad that he’s at least trying to hide it.

“It seems to be part of the problem though,” West says. “So maybe you should really try to talk to him about it, if you can.”

Bronx grimaces and starts rocking back and forth with the swing he’s sitting on. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“You could… talk to someone else. Not Bandit or me or your Dad. Not a total stranger but like… someone you know and trust,” West suggests.

“I’ll think about it,” Bronx says in a diplomatic attempt to end the conversation but he knows that that’s not going to cut it. “Can we talk about something else now?”

They’re both swinging now and it’s starting to help because it’s bringing back carefree childhood memories.

“I miss my family,” West mumbles and that suddenly makes it hard to breathe again because wow, Bronx was not expecting that. He tries to find the right words. West could go home of course, but he ran way in the first place, so if he’s not ready to go back there’s no use in telling him that.

“I’m sure they miss you, too,” he finally says.

“They have to be so worried, too,” West says. “I was at Thomas’- at my friend’s place and I was supposed to spend the summer there. They called me and just told me about May, just like that, and I felt like I was going out of my skin, like I needed to do something _now_.”

“I know that feeling,” Bronx whispers.

“And I just took off to get to them and left a note for my friend. But then I got to the airport and I just… I couldn’t get on the plane. I couldn’t do it. I don’t know, the idea of facing it was even worse than sitting around at Tom’s place. So I started riding with strangers in their cars.” West laughs but it’s a humorless sound and it cuts right through Bronx.

“And suddenly you’re in Denver and some kids who’re older than you but don’t seem too bad pick you up,” he says but neither of them laughs. “Do you know if she’ll be alright?” he finally asks.

West just shrugs and then draws his arms up to wrap them around his torso. In the back of his mind Bronx thinks that that’s probably a bit dangerous because they’re still sitting on the moving swings.

“I don’t know,” West says. “When they called they said it’s probably curable but everything could happen.”

Bronx just nods. He bites his lip again, then he decides to let the thought out. “I… Bandit or I could call your parents if you’d want us to. Like, tell them that you’re ok and you’ll be coming home eventually. And ask about your sister.”

It takes a while but finally West tears his gaze away from his shoes and looks up to meet Bronx’ eyes. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he says. “I’ll think about it.” And then he smiles and Bronx does, too, because it’s a perfect mirror action of what he said earlier.

They stop talking after that and Bronx starts swinging higher and higher until he swears he can reach for the sun in the sky. Of course he never quite gets there, so he just uses the momentum to propel himself into the air and let go of the chains and just fly. He hears West make a squawking noise. It has to look pretty dangerous but he’s done this countless times when he was younger. He lands on his feet on the tarmac and almost falls forward onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ, that looked dangerous!”

But Bronx just laughs over his fast beating heart. “It is,” he says, turning around, and grins. “But my Dad never stopped me from doing it. Always caught me. And patched up my scraped knees a few times.”

“You’re weird,” West mumbles and Bronx just shakes his head.

“Why do you two keep telling me that? I’ve met weirder people.”

“Well I’ve never met any who could fly,” West says. Bronx eyes him with a frown.

“Seriously? I need to introduce you to a few of my friends then.”

“If you mean Star Wars characters, I’ve met those.”

Bronx rolls his eyes and ruffles through West’s hair, totally not marveling at the softness of his curls. West makes an unappreciative noise and shoves him away, grumbling something about personal space and his hair being sacred. They walk back to the motel while debating over the pros and cons of the new Star Wars movies.

The discussion gets even more complicated when they get back to the motel because Bandit joins in. And she has opinions. About everything.

“I mean, the prequel trilogy wasn’t that bad, but the J.J. Abrams ones where definitely better and nothing beats the original series,” she says while she is scribbling around on Bronx’ sketch block.

“But Anakin whines so much. The whole thing was crap,” Bronx argues and lets himself drop onto the second bed. Bandit looks at him for a moment with a raised eyebrow, then she redirects her attention to her drawing again.

“Dude, tell me you wouldn’t be whining in his situation.”

“Nah, he’d just keep quiet and go batshit crazy in a different way,” says West, sitting down next to Bronx, who nods. Yeah, that’s probably exactly what he would do.

“But seriously, Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan was awesome and sassy, he made the whole thing worth it.” Bronx rolls his eyes at her and she catches it, grins. “Oh come on, he’s like the prequel equivalent of Han.”

“Exactly,” Bronx says, waving his hand at her. “The originals had Han and that makes them the best.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying anything against that,” Bandit frowns.

“Clone Wars was stupid though,” West cuts in and Bandit and Bronx both nod.

“The movie was,” Bronx says. “The tv series was cool, I watched it with my Dad.”

“Me too,” Bandit grins but West huffs.

“I liked the J.J. Abrams movies better than the show,” he says.

“Mhm, tough one. That show was basically my childhood,” Bronx says.

“That and the original trilogy,” Bandit adds. “I remember that my parents were really excited when Episode VII came out. They didn’t take me to see it though, because my Dad used to be really over protective.” She rolls her eyes and Bronx snorts.

“My Dad took me to see it on the second day it was out,” he says, proudly, and Bandit and West both stare at him.

“Seriously, man? That’s so cool!”

“I saw the other two with Dad and Uncle Mikey, though,” Bandit says and thinks for a moment, frowning. Then she points at Bronx. “You and your Dad were there too for the second one. The three of them basically had a geek fest.”

Bronx laughs and nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

That night they go to sleep after two in the morning and Bronx falls asleep with one arm draped over West because Bandit was trying to demonstrate how a robot hand would work on him.

 

Apparently the topic is bigger than Bronx remembers because they spend the next two days talking about the Star Wars universe, the characters and writers.

They’re talking about the spin-off movies when Bronx pulls into the parking lot of a water park.

Bandit interrupts her explanation about how she liked the spin-off that was written by Kasdan better – because hello, writer of _Empire Strikes Back_! – to beam at Bronx.

“Told you we’d be picking up this tradition,” she grins.

“I just want your rambling mouth to shut up for a while,” he retorts but knows she doesn’t believe him.

“Well, slides will be an effective way to do that,” she nods.

Of course the shutting up thing doesn’t work out at all and one moment  they’re walking towards the slides, talking about how J.J. Abrams made both the newest Star Wars movies and the Star Trek reboot and how it doesn’t matter because he just makes good stuff and it isn’t _either or_ anymore with those universes, and the next they’re in the lazy river and somehow got over screenwriters to comic book writers.

“I mean, I’m biased because my Dad is one,” Bandit is saying, dragging her hand through the water, “but I can’t believe we haven’t had this conversation yet. What’s your favorite superhero?”

“Batman,” Bronx says before she’s even done phrasing the question.

“Seriously? I thought you’d be more the Superman type.”

“He’s cool but kind of boring,” he shrugs.

“Mhm, I like Wonder Woman best,” Bandit says. “But Cass Cain’s a close second.” Then they both look at West because he hasn’t answered yet. Bronx actually has to drag Bandit out of the collision course with a few kids because she’s staring at him so intensely.

“Is anyone gonna murder me if I say Iron Man?” he finally asks and Bandit jumps at him and pushes his head under the water.

“Hey!” Bronx protests but she releases West after a moment and he reemerges spluttering.

“No judging,” Bandit says. “Marvel character’s welcome. I just wanted to have a reason to get your hair wet again.”

“What is it with you two and my hair?”

“What is it with _her_ and hair in general?” Bronx shoots back and points at Bandit. She just laughs and takes their hands.

“Come on, let’s get out of here, I want some ice cream.”

They end up getting popsicles and sitting around a table for a bit, watching other people.

“That guy looks like Christian Bale,” West points out and Bronx can see Bandit’s eyes light up.

“We are _not_ getting into a Batman movie discussion,” he says quickly because as much as he enjoys talking about things he loves, arguing with Bandit is exhausting.

“Fine,” she pouts.

As compensation Bronx lets her braid his hair again. And not just a strand this time. That effectively shuts her up _and_ makes her happy, so Bronx and West are happy too.

 

***

 

Somewhere in Arkansas West starts complaining.

“It’s so hot,” he whines and Bronx blindly reaches back to poke him in the chest.

“It’s been hot the whole time, I don’t know what’s so different now.”

“I’m bored and it’s hot.”

“I’m gonna make you hot,” Bronx says because yes, it is hot but West is being childish and he can do that too. Unfortunately he doesn’t realize what he’s said until it’s too late. There’s a beat of silence, then Bandit bursts out laughing.

“Aww, you’re so grown up and mature and that totally wasn’t an innuendo,” she giggles.

“I hate you,” mutters Bronx and is surprised to find West silent and blushing when he looks into the rearview mirror. Bronx bites his bottom lip and focuses on the nonexistent traffic.

After a moment Bandit, still laughing, makes a grab for Bronx’ iPod, which is connected to the stereo, and starts going through his songs until she finds one that she likes. Familiar music fills the car and Bronx relaxes into the seat before starting to sing along.

He sees Bandit and West exchange a very obvious look but decides to ignore it until they finally start singing, too.

 

It takes a minor discussion but after a while West reluctantly agrees to go to Texas. They assure him that it’s a big state and not every police officer will be looking for him and if they avoid his friend’s hometown – who totally is Jared Padalecki’s son, but Bronx doesn’t say a word about that because he might be a fanboy but not in inappropriate situations – he’ll be fine.

Obviously it’s still hot and they debate driving down to the sea but Bronx just takes them to two more water parks and they leave it at that. He also decides that Bandit was right and making Wentzes, Ways and Water Parks a tradition is definitely a good idea. And because it looks better than he thought it would he lets Bandit braid strands of his hair every day now.

They stroll into a second hand music store somewhere north of Odessa because Bandit wants to look at Vinyls and somehow Bronx ends up standing in front of a Fender bass from 1973 for at least ten minutes. He can’t really help himself and carefully runs his fingers over the Sunburst finish and the neck.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” asks an unfamiliar voice next to his ear and he flinches, pulling his hand back. “Sorry,” the girl standing next to him says and apologetically pats his shoulder. “I’m Nala. My Dad runs the place.”

“Bronx,” he mumbles in response and hopes to god that she doesn’t know who he is.

“Cool name,” she grins and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips.

“Thanks. Yours isn’t too bad, either.”

“Well, what can I say. My Mom was a big fan of the Lion King.”

He laughs and nods. Then he looks around and sees West and Bandit standing over at the small T-shirt rack, arguing about something. He just rolls his eyes and returns to looking at the bass. “Does she have a history?” he asks after a moment.

“Mhm,” Nala makes and carefully takes the bass off the wall. “I was here when we got her. I was ten, I think, and Mom had to go run some errands so she dropped me off at the shop because I’ve always loved it here, ever since I’ve been a baby. Anyway, I’m sitting on the counter watching Daddy, right, and then this guy comes in. And, I swear to god I’m not making this up, he just puts the bass right on my tiny lap and smiles at me and my Dad comes up and asks what he can do for him. And the guy is like ‘I’d like to give you my bass’ and Dad’s like ‘Sure’ and the guy says ‘I might come to get her back but if I don’t then make sure she gets a good new home.’” She shakes her head and smiles and Bronx has to smile too because he definitely knows some people who would treat their instruments like their children.

“How much did he get for her?” he asks.

“See, that’s the kicker. He just gave her to us, like, as a present or something.”

His eyes go wide, flickering between Nala and the bass she’s still holding. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” she nods.

“And he never came to get her back?”

She makes a face and looks down at the instrument. “No,” she says after a minute. “He died two days later.”

“That’s definitely something,” Bronx mumbles because he doesn’t really know what to say.

“Yeah, she’s our little, lonely mystery girl,” Nala smiles and that’s when something in Bronx head and heart clicks and he kind of loses control.

They leave the shop twenty minutes later, Bronx with his new bass at his side and Nala’s phone number in his pocket.

 

The next day is dedicated to being shown around by Nala who instantly becomes friends with Bandit and sort of teams up with her in harassing Bronx. West is a bit more reserved but Bronx can understand that because he normally doesn’t take to strangers easily, either. It’s just that Nala is different.

She knows a bunch of things about the area and when they end up eating in a small diner late that evening, Bronx and she talk about the bass for another hour.

Bandit even suggests that Nala can come with them for a bit but she declines. “Have to man the store,” she grins. “My parents are out of town.” So nobody knows if they’ll see each other again after they say goodbye.

West seems eager to get out of Texas though so they leave the next morning.

Bronx can’t stop grinning and cranks up the stereo when it’s Bandit’s turn to drive, singing along loudly.

“Can I ask you something?” Bandit asks when the second song ends and turns the volume down. Bronx eyes her suspiciously but nods.

“You just bought a bass that’s worth at least a thousand bucks.”

“Yeah, and I paid nine hundred, because hello, she’s fifty years old and in top condition,” he says.

“Nala wanted to give her to you for five hundred,” Bandit continues and Bronx just shrugs.

“They got her for free,” he says. “But I mean I couldn’t just take her. She’s a beauty and worth the price. And I don’t think Nala’s family makes a lot of money with the store.”

“Yeah, no, that wasn’t my point.” Bronx shifts in his seat and looks at Bandit, waiting for her to continue. “My point is,” she says after a while, “that you just bought a vintage bass for _nine hundred bucks_. And talked about it for hours. Normal people who just like music don’t do that. She’s special and you saw that and you didn’t walk out of there without her. You love this instrument and music. So…” She trails off and Bronx frowns. He’s pretty sure he knows where this is going but he isn’t going to yell at her again. She seems to be hesitant about it, at least. “So,” she finally says, “why are you so against the idea of being part of a band?”

Bronx holds back a sigh, but West on the backseat just groans. “Bandit, leave him alone, he doesn’t want to be like his Dad.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bronx says, turning around for a moment to give West a confused look because what the hell? Then he looks at Bandit again. “I just, I want to do something of my own. Something that isn’t going to get compared to what my Dad does. Like, I could just go to school and study architecture and not be famous.” He doesn’t want fame. Fame is vicious.

“But we would be so good,” Bandit whines. “Seriously, with your voice. Come on, baby, we can just try. We don’t have to become famous. Please. Nala agreed with me, too.”

Bronx just blinks at the dashboard because this is the first time that Bandit ever called him anything else than his name or ‘Dude’. West makes a weird noise from the backseat and now Bronx is really confused. What’s going on with the two of them today?

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just… I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But you’ll think about it?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles but now the thought is fresh in his head again. Damn her.

 

And the problem with fresh thoughts is that they tend to become loud. Loud enough for Bronx to not be able to sleep. So he slips out of their room that night and starts walking around aimlessly. It’s a motel night and he can’t sleep and he hates his life.

After an hour or so he just sits down on the curb and rests his head on his knees. He has his phone with him and he’s been thinking about calling someone. His Dad. But the thought alone makes him feel sick. He can’t call his Dad with this, he just can’t. But who else is there?

Then a face pops up in front of his inner eye and oh. Yeah.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contacts. It’s the middle of the night but he’ll understand. Hopefully.

His hand is shaking when he holds the phone to his ear but he forces himself not to hang up. It rings for a long time until finally there’s a clicking noise.

“’lo?” a sleepy voice says and Bronx lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Uncle Trick?” he asks and he can’t stop his voice from breaking.

“Bronx?” There’s rustling, the sound of a door opening and closing and then the voice of Bronx’ favorite uncle comes back, louder and clearer this time. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t sleep,” Bronx automatically says because it has become his default response for that kind of question.

“This has been happening a lot, hasn’t it?” Patrick asks.

“Yes,” Bronx mumbles.

There’s a few seconds of silence. “Where are you right now?”

“Sitting on the sidewalk in some town in New Mexico.”

“Are you staying at a motel? You should go back inside.”

“I’m sorry,” Bronx says hastily. “I shouldn’t have called…”

“No,” Patrick interrupts him. “It’s okay. I just don’t want you wandering around on your own in the middle of the night.”

“Okay.”

“So, how about that, you go back to the motel and talk to me while you walk, alright?”

“Okay,” Bronx repeats and slowly gets up from the curb. When he starts walking he can feel the words coming and doesn’t hold them back when they tumble from his tongue. He just hopes that his uncle understands his rambled explanation. Weeks of frustration just burst out of him.

“And I don’t want to tell Dad about this. Because I’m so scared,” he finally closes with when he’s leaning against the car. He doesn’t want to go into the motel because they’re sharing a room again and he doesn’t want to wake the others.

“What exactly are you scared of?” Patrick asks and Bronx struggles for words for a moment.

“It’s gonna sound stupid,” he mumbles. “But I don’t want to be like him and I don’t want to worry him. Like, I don’t mind being his son, he’s my Dad, I love him, he’s the best person in the universe. But, you know, he’s gonna think it’s his fault when he finds out about my problems and I don’t want him to blame himself. He’s gonna think it’s his fault when it’s not.”

He hears Patrick sigh and he knows he’s thinking the same thing. “He _is_ going to think that, yes,” he says. “And it doesn’t help that it could be genetic. But you shouldn’t just keep this to yourself.”

“You think it could be genetic?” Bronx frowns and Patrick laughs softly.

“Well, yeah, even though magical transfer of his problems to you is also possible.”

“Very funny,” Bronx pouts but he already feels better. “And I _am_ talking to you, am I not?”

“You are,” Patrick confirms. “And from what I gathered Bandit and… West also know about it?”

“Yeah, but I kind of shut them out and they don’t know what to do either.”

“They’re good people though, they’re not going to abandon you. I know Bandit. And if West is anything like what you described he’s ready to take some risks with his friends. So hang in there.”

Bronx rubs his arm because the air is chilly. Then he just sighs and crawls into the backseat, shutting the door behind him. There, that’s a lot better.

“I know, I know,” he says. “But sometimes they just don’t know when to stop pushing and Bandit keeps going on about how she wants us to form a band.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve never met anyone who hates his musical talents as much as you do.”

“I don’t hate music,” Bronx says, scandalized. “I just don’t think a band would be a good idea.”

“Joining bands was the best decision I ever made, little gremlin,” Patrick says and Bronx just wants to curl up at the mention of the nickname. “I was reluctant about singing, too, but it made me so happy in the end. And you can’t tell me that music doesn’t make you happy.”

“But what if it backfires,” Bronx whispers.

“You won’t find out if you won’t try. But you don’t have to. Do you think you could stop worrying and sleep now? For me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s gonna be silent enough.”

Patrick keeps still for a few seconds and Bronx wonders if he didn’t understand what he meant, but then the voice comes through the speaker again. “Just lie down and close your eyes, Bronx.” And he does.

Then Patrick starts singing his lullaby and Bronx immediately feels like his bones are melting because he hasn’t heard this in a million years but it still is so familiar and he can feel it putting him to sleep.

“Thanks,” he mumbles before he starts drifting off and he can hear the smile in Patrick’s voice.

 

Bronx definitely feels better after waking up in the morning to a text from Patrick to call him whenever he needs to. None of his problems have really been resolved but from there on he puts his earbuds in at night and plays the recording of the lullaby that was formerly lost in the depths of his iPod. It’s not the same but it helps.

But while _he_ feels ok, mostly at least, West seems to get grumpier every day and Bandit and Bronx start exchanging worried glances whenever he makes a snarky comment that is too harsh to be meant as friendly banter.

They’re driving north again now because when Bandit asked Bronx if he wanted to go home he said no. So he’s not exactly sure what is causing West’s bad mood since they’re putting more distance between them and Texas every day. He also doesn’t know where West’s family lives – he just knows they’re supposedly in California right now –  and is afraid to ask about it, in case that only makes it worse.

But in the confined space of a car, nothing can go undiscussed for too long – as he had learned himself – and when West refuses to eat something when they stop at a diner for dinner one day, Bronx has had enough.

“We’ll be right back,” he tells the confused waitress and drags West outside to talk, leaving Bandit behind to order whatever she pleases.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he demands once they’re outside and around the corner in the small alley next to the diner.

“Nothing,” West says defiantly but it’s too quiet to be harsh.

“Come on, what happened to talking about our problems?” Bronx asks with a small smile. “Is this about your family? Because you’ve been acting really weird ever since we met Nala.”

West just shrugs and Bronx sighs.

“I told you we would call them to tell them you’re alive if you want us to and you said you’d think about it. So that offer still stands. I’m pretty sure they’re worried sick about you at this point.”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me about my family,” West grits out and Bronx is surprised when the other boy grips his arms but just holds on tight instead of shoving him away. “This isn’t about them.”

“What is it, then?” Bronx asks because he really doesn’t understand West.

“This is about you, you stupid dumb fuck.”

And Bronx really can’t help it but he just has to laugh at that. “I’m sorry,” he grins. “But you’re such a _teenager_.”

“Don’t laugh about me,” West snaps and shakes Bronx and oh yeah, he’s still holding on to him. “You’re not that much older.”

“Sorry,” Bronx repeats.  “But I feel a whole lot older than I actually am, so… yeah. But really, _that’s_ how you’re telling me you have a crush on me? So stereotypical. You could have tried flirting beforehand.”

“Well, you were busy being all down so maybe you just didn’t notice.”

“See, that’s better,” Bronx grins. “You really shouldn’t have been brooding about this since Texas though. Just… you should’ve told Bandit, she probably wouldn’t have told me because she’s cool. Or you could’ve tried to act on it.”

“Thought you had like… a deep connection with Nala,” West mumbles and Bronx has to laugh again.

“Oh. Yeah, no. Nala and I would make good friends, but I’m not really attracted to her.”

“How the fuck are you so mature?” West asks and Bronx just shrugs.

“Somebody has to be the adult at home,” he jokes. “My Dad says I’m an old soul.” He shakes his head and loses himself in thought for a bit. There’s a moment of silence in which Bronx notices that West is still clinging to the fabric of his hoodie. “So, how about you let me go now and we go back inside and eat? And we can joke about milkshakes and Bandit will join in on the innuendos.”

“Sounds terribly embarrassing,” West sighs and finally lets go of Bronx’ arms. “But I’ll take it.”

 

While Bronx is not attracted to Nala, he is definitely attracted to West. But he just couldn’t take advantage of the younger boy’s heated confession. Because while he doesn’t doubt the reality of West’s feelings, he doesn’t think rushing into anything  would be good right now. For either of them. Of course he could’ve kissed West in that alley. He wanted to. But right now Bronx isn’t sure of anything, so he didn’t.

He doesn’t want this to be a fleeting thing. And nothing seems to last very long on this road trip.

 

***

Wyoming greets them with rain. West spends most of their journey that day being quiet and looking out of the window and Bronx worries that he made a mistake in talking to him.

When they stop for the night West hands them a piece of paper.  There’s a phone number scribbled on it. “Call them,” he mumbles and then shuffles out of the motel room. Bandit and Bronx share a puzzled look.

“You call,” she finally says. “I’m gonna go and talk to him this time.”

Bronx’ heart immediately starts beating faster but he nods and watches as Bandit leaves, too. Then he looks down at the black digits. So, West _does_ want them to call his parents. What is he supposed to say?

He just takes a deep breath and gets his phone out.  He was the one to offer this so he has to go through with it now. It still takes him a full minute to dial.

“Hello?” There’s a cautious, male voice at the other end of the line.

“Uhh… Mr. Collins?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“My name is Bronx,” he says, too nervous to reveal his last name because then this guy could probably find out where he lives really easily. Famous people have good options if they want to find other famous people. “I’m sorry, this has to be really unexpected. I just… uhh… wanted to tell you that I got your number from West.”

“Where is he?” The words are sudden and demanding but desperate and Bronx winces.

“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “But he’s perfectly safe. He’s staying with a friend and me right now until he’s ready to… come home. He’s very scared but he knows that you’re probably worried sick and he’s beating himself up about putting that extra stress on your family. He just freaked out and needed to get away.” Bronx knows that he’s rambling but he can’t help it. “So I just… wanted to call to tell you that he’s fine.” There’s a beat of silence and then he just blurts out “And I’m obviously sorry about your daughter and probably supposed to ask how she’s doing.”

Awesome social skills, Bronx. He feels like he needs to disintegrate right this instant.

In the next moment Bronx is surprised by a laugh ringing in his ears.

“Oh boy, you sound terrified,” Misha Collins says and now Bronx is really embarrassed. “How old are you?”

“I’m 18, sir,” he says, too stunned for anything witty.

“Right, and you’re looking out for my son?” Bronx nods even though he knows that the man can’t see him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t make fun of you. I’m glad you called, thank you. And Maison isn’t doing well, but she’s starting treatment now and the doctors think she’s going to be fine.”

Bronx still doesn’t know what exactly West’s sister has, but he doesn’t want to pry.

“I’m… glad to hear that,” he mumbles. “And West will be relieved. Do you want me to tell him anything?”

“Tell him that we love him, that his sister misses him and that she says she’s going to get better faster if he comes home. And tell him that we’re not mad at him.”

“Okay,” Bronx says. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank _you_. And don’t let him get lost, alright?”

“I won’t.” And he’s dead serious.

After he has put his phone aside Bronx thinks that this conversation could’ve gone a lot better. I could’ve gone a lot worse, though, too. So he’s going to try not to ponder on his stupid mouth that doesn’t seem to have a filter.

 

When Bandit and West come back he gives them a word-by-word of the conversation and they're considerate enough not to laugh at him. West looks like a ton of weight has been lifted off his shoulders but there’s still fear in his eyes. Bronx understands.

Bandit on the other hand gives him this _look_ and then goes into the bathroom to take a shower and Bronx wonders what he’s done to her, now. Needless to say that he doesn’t sleep very well that night.

 

***

They decide to go to Canada because why not? That’s mostly their reasoning behind everything. They can do whatever they want.

But they’re about a hundred miles into Montana when the car starts making weird noises and when they stop in Missoula for food and gas it takes three tries to start it again. The engine dies shortly after the next corner.

Bronx just sits in the driver’s seat for a minute. Then he exhales shakily, gets out and starts kicking the tire.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he tells Bandit when she drags him onto the sidewalk. “She can’t die on me now. I can’t fix cars. I don’t…”

She sighs and waves at West who is at Bronx’ side a second later and puts his arm around Bronx’ middle.

“Calm down, baby boy,” she tells him. “Let me take a look, ok?”

But she can’t find out what’s wrong with the car, either, and Bronx can’t deal with this. He’s shaking in West’s arms and it would be stupid and embarrassing if he could just _breathe_ and think properly.

“Hey, wow,” West mumbles, obviously taking notice of his shaking and pulling him to his chest. “Breathe, ok? Come on. In. And out. That’s it.” He strokes Bronx’ back and it gets a bit easier but it’s still too much.

“Do you guys need help?” It’s an unfamiliar voice but Bronx can’t seem to make himself move.

 

The guy’s name is Hank and he’s in his late forties. He offers to tow the Land Rover to his house and get a friend to take a look at it. And because Bronx is not really reacting to any questions coherently and Bandit can only do so much – or so she tells him later – she accepts.

An hour later they’re in Hank’s guest room and Bronx is sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he mumbles and he knows he’s said it a thousand times by now. “I love that car. And how are we supposed to get home? We can’t walk to LA. I’m supposed to look out for you two and I can’t even take care of myself.”

Bandit is sitting opposite to him, cross-legged and she has a hand on his shin. “We could probably buy another car if we had to. And Missoula has an airport. We can get home really easily.”

“Please stop worrying,” West says, who is next to Bronx on the floor, and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“But I don’t know _how_! I know I’m acting stupid but that only makes it worse.”

“We’ll be alright, Bronx. We’re fine. For all we know the car could be fine, too.”

“I know, I know, I _know_!” he exclaims, stomping his feet which has to look ridiculous because he’s _sitting on the damn floor_. And he also knows West and Bandit are exchanging looks over his head and he hates it. “I just want to forget,” he mumbles.

“Well, I don’t think there’s an elixir for that just yet. But sleeping might help?” West suggests. Bronx shakes his head. How on earth is he supposed to sleep.

“I bet we can get you to sleep,” Bandit says soothingly and for a moment Bronx has the impression that she’s talking to a toddler and not him. “Come on.”

And then there’s Bandit’s hand wrapped around his upper right arm and West’s around his left and they coax him into getting up and lying down on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight and he can feel it shift when Bandit shuffles closer to his right and West sits down on his other side.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, furiously wiping at his eyes because somewhere in the last minutes he started crying.

“Don’t be,” West says and Bronx turns towards him because for some reason he’s easier to look at than Bandit right now. Bandit puts a hand on Bronx waist and he can feel her resting her forehead against the back of his neck, while West brushes a few hairs out of Bronx face and then starts opening the two braids Bandit weaved into his hair this morning. And Bronx just tries to breathe steadily.

“Close your eyes,” Bandit murmurs right next to his ear and he lets his eyes flutter shut. West’s hand is now resting against his cheek.

“Guys?” Bronx asks and he hates how small he sounds.

“Hmm?”

He struggles to get the words out for a moment but not having to look at them makes it better. “Could you… like… sing?”

Bandit chuckles and West makes a muffled noise that Bronx can’t really identify.

“What do you want us to sing?” West asks but Bandit is already sitting up, keeping her hand on Bronx’ side to show him that she isn’t leaving.

“ _Pushing through the market square…_ ”

West’s mouth involuntarily twists into a small smile. He doesn’t protest that this definitely isn’t a lullaby because well, it fits, doesn’t it? Bandit’s voice is hushed and stays calm even throughout the end of the song but Bronx can definitely hear that this is a well practiced tune for her.

Afterwards West and Bandit sing _Candles_ together and Bronx notices that it’s easier to breathe now, that he’s calmed down, that this is really helping.

He reaches out with his right hand until he finds West’s arm and can squeeze it lightly as a thank you. His left is lying on Bandit’s fingers on his waist and it shouldn’t be a comfortable position but it is.

They get through four more songs like this and Bronx feels himself drifting away to Bandit’s singing and West’s voice joining hers on “ _…in your city by the lake_ ” and it’s possibly the best thing he’s ever heard.

 

Waking up the next morning is so easy and slow that Bronx briefly wonders if he’s dreaming.

He feels warm and safe and rested and usually that’s not adjectives he’d use after an evening like the last. But usually he wouldn’t have slept at all, his thoughts clawing at the walls of his brain, his hands shaking. Maybe, if he would have found sleep in the early morning hours, West would have jerked him awake with a loud request for breakfast. Or Bandit would have accidentally dropped something on him. But not last night. And not this morning.

He lazily opens his eyes and blinks against the morning light seeping through the curtains into the room.

Bandit has her hand on his stomach now, his hand is over hers, holding it lightly. His other hand is stretched towards a still sleeping West, almost touching his chest. And sometime, somehow all three of them got their legs tangled together.

Bronx sees no use in trying to get himself out of the space between Bandit’s and West’s bodies and inevitably waking them up in the process. Instead he stays and watches the boy in front of him scrunch his nose in his sleep and feels the girl on his other side breathing.

And he just smiles, closes his eyes again and lets the current of sleep take over a second time.

 

When he wakes up again Bandit is gently stroking his hair and West is sitting next to him, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and yawning.

“Every morning should feel this way,” Bronx mumbles, mind still clouded from sleep and he hears Bandit laugh.

“You’re weird, Bronx Wentz,” she says and he smiles and gently nudges his heel against her shin. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to show her that she’s just as weird as he is.

A second later West has thrown himself on them dramatically and they laugh even though he knocked the air right out of them.  “Breakfast!” he announces loudly.

“You’re weird, too,” Bandit says with a chuckle and shoves him off.

“You’re both five years old,” Bronx tells them and then crawls off the bed.

 

The awareness that they’re in someone else’s house and not a motel or the car for the first time since New Jersey doesn’t come to Bronx until they walk into the kitchen where Hank is currently making coffee.

“Good morning,” he says cheerfully and that’s when West, who is the last to come through the door, makes a little “Oh” noise and then blurts out “You’re Hank _Green_.”

“Who?” Bandit asks, turning to him in confusion but Bronx snaps his fingers.

“ _That’s_ why you looked familiar,” he says.

“I’m so done with you two,” Bandit tells them and points at Bronx. “Do you attract famous people?”

“I’m not famous,” Hank protests, pouring coffee into five mugs without asking them if they even want any.

“You kind of are,” Bronx tells him and then, while West launches into an explanation for Bandit, he sits down at the kitchen table with Hank. “Thanks for taking us in,” he says and Hank just smiles and pushes one of the mugs towards Bronx, which he gladly accepts. “And I’m sorry I was so out of it yesterday, I’m not very good with sudden… things.” He takes a sip of the coffee.

Hank makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It happens,” he says. “And you guys looked really lost, so I just had to pull over.”

“Thanks,” Bronx grins.

“Do you have any cereal?” West asks, clearly he has never heard of manners. Hank points at one of the cabinets and Bandit, who’s standing closer to it, grabs the box of Cheerios and then asks Hank where the bowls are. Bronx just wonders how those two can feel so at home in someone else’s kitchen.

 

Hank’s friend comes around that afternoon and they all stand around the car, waiting for his diagnosis.

“And?” Bandit is the first to ask when he finally closes the hood.

The guy laughs. “It’s just the head gasket, guys. I can get you a new one and fix this by tomorrow night.”

Bronx lets out a relieved sigh and West puts his chin on his shoulder. “See,” he grins, “told you.”

“I _know_ ,” Bronx huffs and they all laugh.

Afterwards they go inside and Hank and Katherine, his wife, make the best dinner they’ve had since Florida – West’s words – and they stay up playing some ridiculous card game until midnight.

 

They end up staying a few days, doing laundry for the first time since Chicago and waiting for the car to be fixed. Bronx gets used to the feeling of waking up sandwiched – there just isn’t a better word for it – between West and Bandit every morning.

But they know they have to leave eventually and on their last night Bronx sits them down in the safety of the guest room.

“I want to go home,” he tells them and absolutely hates himself for the way West’s face falls. The younger boy drops his gaze to his hand that he is restlessly wringing in his lap. Bronx sighs. “No, come on, look at me,” he says, avoiding Bandit’s eyes, fixed on West. “We’re not abandoning you, okay? And I’m not saying that I want us to get on the I-15 and drive to LA in two days. We can take our time. But I need to get home soon.”

“Okay,” West nods but he’s still looking at his hand.

“West,” Bronx says tentatively, “Westie, please.” West’s head snaps up at that and he looks kind of shocked and _hurt_ and oh god, he probably hasn’t heard that name in ages. “Sorry,” he hastily apologizes, “I didn’t mean to–“ but he’s cut off by West surging forward and _kissing him_.

There’s a second in which Bronx can’t do anything because he’s so shocked but then he slowly starts moving his mouth against West’s lips and wow… Okay, why didn’t he do this back in Colorado?

It’s over way too fast but they’re both very aware of their audience – which only consists of Bandit, but she cheers like a whole crowd.

“Finally!” she exclaims and then engulfs them in a giant bear hug.

 

***

Somewhere near Idaho Falls they pull over on some track next to a field and sit on the hood of the car that is now running again properly.

“I don’t want to go home,” West says, barely audible, and Bronx takes his hand.

“Hey, just because _I_ want to go home doesn’t mean you have to.”

“But I don’t want to stay out here without you guys.” West motions at the landscape and Bandit laughs, shaking her head.

“That’s not what he meant,” she says.

“You can come stay with me,” Bronx nods, “if… you want to.”

For a minute there’s just their breaths disrupting the silence. Then West nods. “Yes,” he mumbles. “I’d like that.”

“Dudes,” Bandit says a second later. “Do you guys know what we need?” They shake their heads simultaneously. “We need to make this road trip eternal!”

“Okay,” West makes, drawing the y out endlessly. “And how do we do that?”

“We get tattoos of course!”

Bronx rolls his eyes. “West is 16,” he says. “And that’s not eternal. Our skin is going to rot away eventually after we die.”

“Thanks for _that_ mental image,” Bandit says, sticking out her tongue at him. “You’re such a cheery and positive guy.”

“I could ask my parents for permission,” West muses, ignoring their little banter.

“But we should get them _on the road trip_ ,” Bandit whines.

“Well, what are we supposed to do? We can’t get him a convincing enough fake ID,” Bronx huffs and quickly adds “And that’d be a crime, anyway!” because Bandit has this reckless gleam in her eyes. “No, Bee, absolutely not!”

“You’re no fun,” she pouts.

“Guys,” West says slowly, lying back on the hood until he’s leaning against the windshield. They automatically copy his movements. “Does LA count as ‘on the road trip’?”

“It was our starting point,” Bandit shrugs. “So… more or less, yeah. Why?”

“Because my family lives there,” he says.

“No way! Seriously? We’re all natives then.”

“Yes way,” Bronx grins, bumping their shoulders. Then he looks at West. “But you just said you don’t want to go home.”

“It’s complicated,” West shrugs and tries to smile. “Like, I want to see them again but I’m terrified of going home.” Bronx automatically leans closer to him. He knows that feeling very well.

“Well, my offer still stands,” he says. “And you don’t have to be scared. If anyone has to be scared, that’s me. I just hope your Dad is not going to rip my head off for just picking you up and dragging you across the country and then seducing you.”

“You haven’t seduced me yet,” West smirks and Bandit kicks him. Bronx snorts and kisses West.

“But I wanted us to get the tattoos in Denver,” Bandit complains after a minute of silence.

“We can do that in a few years, Jesus,” West says, waving his hands in the air and rolling his eyes.

“Do you really think we’ll still be friends then?” Bronx asks.

“You’re a fucking moron if you don’t think that,” Bandit exclaims. “You two are more than friends, for a start, if you hadn’t noticed yet. And I’m still planning to start a band with you, so there’s that.”

“You’re crazy,” Bronx tells her but he’s grinning. He doesn’t even protest the band thing anymore. They’ll see if she’s still so keen about it when they get home.

 

They stay out there until the sun has set and the stars have come out, debating what kind of tattoo they should get. It’s West who comes up with the best idea.

“Sandcastles,” he says into the silence of the night.

 

***

Bronx and West finally persuade Bandit into driving through Utah. Because her “refusal to set foot into the state is childish and horribly racist and whatever.”

If he’s honest, Bronx is getting kind of frustrated. He loves Bandit, he really does, but she’s constantly around – not much room on a road trip, obviously – and she always interrupts the best make-out sessions. But she’s not oblivious to that and when they stop at a motel in Salt Lake City she gets them two rooms and tosses them one key. “Have fun,” she grins before grabbing her backpack and vanishing.

They stare at each other for a moment but then West’s hand is curled around Bronx’ wrist and he’s dragging him to their room. The door is barely closed behind them when their bags are already on the floor and West has Bronx backed up against the wall.

“This,” he pants, kissing Bronx’ jaw, “has been long overdue.”

Bronx makes an agreeing noise and puts one hand in West’s hair, one on his shoulder and a moment later he’s the one who has West against the wall. “That’s better,” he grins before placing a kiss on West’s throat. “We’re tragically overdressed,” he mumbles against the other boys’ pulse.

“I’ve noticed.”

He laughs and takes a step back. It’s hard, because really, he’d just like to latch onto the soft spot of skin directly beneath West’s jaw, but he manages. He tugs at the hem of West’s shirt and West raises his arms obediently so Bronx can pull it off over his head and drop it on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing him again because how can he _not_? But after a moment West pulls at his hair a little bit and breaks the kiss. “You too,” he says.

For a moment Bronx is met with an irrational feeling of shame and anxiety but he quickly reminds himself that West has already seen him shirtless – albeit never completely naked – and that he’s done this before. He can stop if he wants to, even though they’re probably both going to be disappointed if he does. And it was him who pointed out their state of dress in the first place. He slightly shakes his head and takes his shirt off, stepping closer to West again afterwards.

“You ok?” West asks against his lips and Bronx smiles. Of course he’d notice. Even now.

“Mhm,” he makes, pressing closer. “Brain being stupid. I’m fine.” And then he starts trailing a line of kisses down West’s chest because he has been wanting to do this for _ages_. He drops to his knees in front of West and lets his hands wander over the boy’s flat but soft stomach. West is shivering under his touch, his skin hot against the tips of Bronx’ fingers.

Bronx looks up, licking his lips. “Are _you_ okay?”

West nods fervently but Bronx can see the hint of insecurity in his eyes. He remains where he is, his hands secure on West’s hips.

“Yeah,” West says finally. “It’s just… I’ve never… done this before.” He makes a vague movement with his hand.

“I know,” Bronx says. He does, because even though they haven’t talked about sex a lot, there had been an instant a few weeks back when Bandit made them all talk about past conquests. Or lack thereof. “We won’t do anything that doesn’t feel right or that you’re not comfortable with,” he adds, tracing West’s hipbones with his thumbs.

West grins slightly and smooths Bronx’ hair back from his forehead. “Okay,” he says. “Umm… can you like… blow me?”

Bronx can’t help but break into a broad grin. “I was kind of counting on that, yeah,” he says, surprised how low, almost growly his voice suddenly is. West seems to have picked up on it, too, because Bronx can see his eyes darken. “Against the wall or on the bed?” he asks, just to see the reaction.

“Jesus,” West groans and Bronx laughs. “Wall,” he decides after a moment.

“Thought so,” Bronx grins and it’s only then that he starts taking real action again. He presses his nose to the skin just above the waistband of West’s jeans while his hands take a firmer grip of the boy’s hips for a moment. Then he pulls back and starts undoing West’s fly.

He pulls West’s jeans down and West doesn’t seem to need an encouragement to step out of them, kicking them aside in the process. Bronx lets his hand ghost over West’s erection that is visible through his boxers – which earns him another impatient groan – before he tugs these off, too.

There’s a moment in which the only things he can focus is West’s erratic breathing and the way his body trembles under Bronx’ hands. He presses a kiss to the base of West’s cock, then another to the tip. West’s hips buck and Bronx grins, spreading his hands further on West’s hips, holding him still against the wall.

When he wraps his lips around West’s cock West’s hands grip his hair, yanking painfully, but Bronx only hums, which makes West moan loudly. Good. Because despite not having done this in a while Bronx knows what he’s doing and West better enjoy it.

He hollows his cheeks, rubbing circles into West’s hip bones while he takes him further into his mouth. The noises the other boy is making are shooting down his spine and his stomach, right down to his own cock.

There’s not much of a warning before West comes because by that time Bronx has reduced him to incoherent shouts and noises. So he just gets another pull at his hair and a “I’m gonna–“ before West is spilling into his mouth. He’s never particularly liked the taste, but there’s not much of a choice he has beside swallowing, so he does.

West pulls him upwards with shaking hands and Bronx almost automatically wraps his arms around the younger boy’s body. Their eyes meet and then West starts grinning, bringing his hand up to wipe a bit of come away from the corner of Bronx mouth. Bronx’ breath hitches when West actually licks the drop of his thumb. Holy shit.

“Now who’s overdressed?” West asks, voice a bit croaky and Bronx just has to kiss him right now. West is still shaking but undone against him and Bronx can just imagine what it must feel like, to taste his own come on Bronx’ lips. When he presses their hips together West can probably feel that ‘overdressed’ is not everything Bronx is right now. He’s also turned on. Very much so.

He can tell by the way West is leaning against the wall for support that he’s not very steady on his feet right now so he just picks him up – earning a small noise of protest but West wraps his legs around Bronx’ waist anyway. Bronx grins and carries West over to the bed. Careful not to just dump him there he sets the boy down on the sheets before pulling back to unceremoniously get rid of his own jeans and boxers and then crawling on the bed, kissing West thoroughly.

West’s hands find their way to Bronx body, one dragging fingernails over his back, one trailing down his side. For a moment he feels ridiculously exposed which is stupid because hello, he just sucked him off, but the feeling fades when West wraps a hand around him.

Bronx tries to find a better position for the both of them by flipping them around so that West is now hovering over him instead.

He really tries to hold on but his orgasm doesn’t need long to build and he’s been waiting for this for too long. He comes over West’s hand and his own stomach with West’s name on his lips and a moment later West is collapsing beside him onto the mattress. Bronx automatically turns and nuzzles his nose into the dip of West’s collar bone.

But drying come on heated skin isn’t exactly the most awesome feeling ever so after a moment he gets up and grabs the next best piece of fabric off the floor – which happens to be his boxers. Bronx quickly wipes his stomach and then tosses the now successfully dirtied underwear at West, who lets out a high pitched noise but wipes his hands anyway and then throws the boxers on the floor again.

Bronx crawls back on the bed and nudges West until they can both get under the covers.

“That was _awesome_ ,” Bronx mumbles against West’s jaw, cuddling up close to him. “Shower tomorrow,” he promises, because he’s definitely too tired for that in his blissed out state.

West angles his head so he can press a kiss to the top of Bronx head. “Let’s sleep,” he agrees. And they do. Bronx loves sleeping next to West. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. And he can actually _sleep_.

 

They wake up early the next morning, exchanging lazy kisses. West practices his first blow job ever under Bronx’s guidance – quite successfully – and then they shower together.

When Bandit comes knocking at their door fifteen minutes later, Bronx’ hair is still wet and West is in the shirt Bronx was wearing yesterday. Bandit just grins at them and then tells them to hurry up so they can go and get breakfast.

In a café later she explains to them that while they were busy she did some research and found out that Utah is actually really pretty and that they should drive down to the Grand Staircase. “Think of all the pictures you could take!” she says to Bronx and well, he didn’t need much convincing anyway.

So they spend the next day there. And when they drive towards the border that night, Bronx doesn’t feel the desperate need to go home anymore. But he’s looking forward to it. He wants to see his Dad and his Mom and his crazy uncles.

 

***

On their last day on the road they’re all a bit quiet. Bronx toys with his phone when they’re stopped at a gas station for snacks for the last few hours and obviously gas, and he sees West doing the same. They exchange nervous smiles and then Bronx decides to just text his Dad.

_We’re coming home tonight. I’m bringing a friend. Have a lot to talk about._

He doesn’t mention that he’s not entirely okay, because his Dad can probably tell. Plus, he should be freaking out enough over that text as it is. Bronx grins to himself and looks up to West, who has pocketed his phone again with a shrug. His own buzzes with an answer a minute later.

_good ways are alrdy cmping here. gran tld me bout ur stray._

Bronx rolls his eyes. Well, they’ll set that ‘stray’ thing right tonight.

“You guys ready?” Bandit calls, walking over from the restroom.

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bronx grins and slides into the driver’s seat. West automatically gets into the backseat and Bandit lets herself fall onto the passenger sit, kicking her flip-flops off and putting her feet on the dashboard. Then she makes a grab for Bronx’ iPod.

They roll back onto the road with Queen’s _These Are The Days Of Our Lives_ floating out of the car’s stereo.

 

When the sun starts setting Bronx pulls over for a moment and shoots a picture of Bandit. Because he never wants to lose this memory and he doesn’t trust his brain enough.  Then he turns around and snaps one of West, too.

“I just wish I had taken one right back in Denver when you stumbled into this car soaked and dripping,” he says earnestly.

“We can recreate that scene,” Bandit deadpans.

 

It’s dark by the time they arrive in front of Bronx’ house. Bandit already announced two hours ago that her parents are probably there anyway so he doesn’t have to drop her off at home.

“So,” Bronx says, turning to try and look at Bandit and West at the same time. “This is it.”

He doesn’t get to say more because the front door of the house is flung open and people are pouring out. All Bronx can think in that moment is that his Dad got them a fucking _welcoming committee_ of friends and family. Then West and Bandit are shoving at him to get out of the door before doing the same.

Bronx barely has time to walk around the car before his Dad picks him up and starts swinging him around even though Bronx is 18 years old and taller than him. And Bronx just hugs him back. “I’ve missed you.”

“Welcome home,” his Dad says, putting him down. Bronx grins at him and his Dad reaches up to touch Bronx’ hair. “Looking good,” he says and Bronx laughs.

“Yeah, the braids were Bandit’s idea.” And after he got used to them he now loves them a whole lot.

Bronx looks around to see Bandit enveloped in a big group hug between her father, his brother and her mother. He can’t see West though, so he turns around to see him still standing next to the car. Bronx extends his hand towards him and a smile spreads across West’s face as he steps forward and takes it.

“Dad, this is West,” he says, linking their fingers together, and with a grin he adds “My stray.”

“Hold up,” Bandit calls, disentangling from her family and stepping over to them. “Who picked him up from the streets?”

“You,” they say in unison, rolling their eyes. “He’s still mine,” Bronx adds and earns laughter from the others standing around them.

“Well, in that case,” his Dad grins, opening his arms wide to give West a hug, too. “Come inside, you three. We’ve got food and you’ve got stories.”

And when they step into the house and Bandit slips her hand into Bronx’ other that isn’t occupied with West’s fingers, he thinks that thanks for having traveled so far and then coming back to the same place, he’s definitely grown and learned a lot.

And he’s found things and, most importantly, people. Because everything’s a search and he never knew.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from Summer Hair = Forever Young by The Academy Is...
> 
> I do have a few more ideas/scenes for what happened after they got home, so if you'd like to know what happened, just tell me and maybe I'll write some more. :P


End file.
